


Defective Machines

by Rybe



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Denial, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn with Feelings, Pritchard's a thot, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Touch-Starved, and they were ROOMMATES, big dick Pritchard, canon typical dark themes, emotionally fraught shower wanking, frenemies to lovers, is he a big dick or does he have a big dick?, the answer is yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 110,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rybe/pseuds/Rybe
Summary: When Jensen last spoke to Pritchard he didn't expect to see the hacker again. And he definitely didn't expect to be in a situation where he'd be the one to contact the hacker instead. But when he started experiencing technical glitches, he quickly ran out of options.





	1. Chapter 1

It started innocuously enough, just occasional bursts of static and interference when Jensen used his infolink. Nothing that couldn’t be dismissed with the usual sorts of environmental connection problems. But then he started getting bursts of static and distortion when no one was trying to contact him.

Jensen immediately worried that someone, or rather, yet _another_ person was trying to hack his infolink. He checked with Interpol’s medical staff, but their expertise in augmentation technology was limited at best. Unsurprisingly, after a short diagnostic, they sent him away with a big confused shrug.

So now he sat in Koller’s chair, his skin crawling as the engineer's computers ran their diagnostics. Jensen shook his head gently, the cord sprouting from his forehead obstructing his view of the engineer.

“Don’t do that, you’ll shake a connection loose- it would be very bad!” Koller scolded.

“Sorry,” Jensen muttered. 

Koller looked frazzled today, or rather more frazzled than usual. His usually wild hair reaching whole new heights of out of control, and dark circles under his eyes. Jensen had asked if it was a bad time to stop in, but he insisted it was fine. Koller always seemed just a tad too eager to poke around in Jensen’s hardware. Fortunately, however, this time Jensen got to stay awake.

As the computer scanned and downloaded data, Koller read through it, muttering mostly to himself whenever he saw anything noteworthy. Though he mostly just announced whenever a sector completed its scan, looking normal.

“I always forget how long these take on you,” Koller said with a chuckle. “I thought mine were long.”

Jensen just grunted in reply. 

After nearly thirty minutes sitting in the damn chair, Koller finally started to unplug him.

“Well, nothing immediate jumped out. I’ll need to review the data I downloaded and probably run some tests. I’ll let you know as soon as I have results, sound good?”

“Not sure I have a choice. I really need to know if someone’s trying to hack my infolink though,” Jensen said, running a hand through his hair and vigorously shaking his head once he was free of plugs.

“For what it is worth, from what I saw I do not think anyone is trying to, usually that is a fairly obvious signature. There are other ways to try and hack that are less obvious, but I feel it is unlikely.”

“That’s good, I guess. Just. Let me know.”

Jensen walked out into the rain and cold, adjusting and readjusting his arms, trying to shake the unpleasant feeling of the diagnostic from his limbs. His hand split apart, components whirring and sliding across each other before reassembling back into a fist. Apparently, a cop didn’t appreciate the sight, and stormed up to him, demanding his papers. Jensen rolled his eyes and handed them over with minimal snark. Today was bad enough already, and he had a whole afternoon of meetings and thrilling paperwork to look forward to. 

The cop’s eyes followed him as he headed to the subway, no doubt making sure he got in the correct line. Part of him felt like getting into the naturals train car purely out of spite, but he was already running late. He could feel a tension headache building at the base of his skull. He had to make a conscious effort to unclench his teeth as he rode. The worse than usual smell of rotting garbage and body odor lingering in the aug subway car definitely wasn’t helping either.

It was almost a relief to get to the taskforce headquarters, even if he did have boring nonsense to deal with. He received a smattering of seemingly sincere congratulations at the success of his last mission, and he couldn’t help but smile at hearing Aria’s unbridled excitement over getting her first field assignment in ages. The meetings and paperwork were predictably dull, but wrapped up faster than he expected. 

Several hours later as he was headed back out for the day, a burst of static came over his infolink.

_“Hey, Jensen, I completed the diagnostic and revie- -”_ Koller started, before growing static overtook most of the message. _“Good news and b - - - - - - -not extern - - - - - - - - - - malfunction in - - - - - - - -not sure- - - -”_ Jensen nearly missed the last step of the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt on the main floor, nearly knocking into an agent bustling from one office to another as an ear piercing shriek added itself to the cacophony in his head. He winced as the noise grew louder and louder. His hand reflexively raised up to his ear, not that there was anything it could do to stop the racket in his cochlear implant. _“Stop by wh- - - - -”_

Jensen grimaced, the racket reaching a truly unbearable pitch as the transmission ended a few moments later. He squeezed his eyes shut, quickly working to shut down the infolink before it blew out his implant, and what remained of his ear. 

He shook his head as the link went silent, his ears ringing, and his headache back with a vengeance. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, finally opening his eyes, only to tense up again. Everyone who’d been nearby had backed away a good ten feet, tensely watching him, a glimmer of fear in their eyes. One agent even had his hand none too casually resting on his gun. 

The moment seemed to last for an eternity, staring the group down. It was astonishing how quickly it went from business as usual to them suspecting the start of a second Incident. Jensen finally cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh, you okay there, Jensen?” one of the agents asked, his voice wavering slightly. 

“Yeah. Fine,” Jensen snapped, trying and failing to keep his voice even. 

The group slowly started to disperse, continuing on with their business, but still tossing glances his way. Jensen stood, torn between wanting to kick every last one of their asses, or turning on his cloak and disappearing into the nearest air duct to escape their gazes. It was good to know his coworkers were prepared to murder him in the event of a sudden onset migraine...So much for thinking his continued work with them would gain him even the slightest bit of loyalty in their eyes. 

He felt like the whole damn room was staring. It had been what, ten seconds of static to put everyone on such high alert?

Instead of fighting or hiding he went with the other natural option, and fled. Jensen strode to the elevator, immediately relieved when the doors closed behind him. He was more shaken by what happened in there than he even wanted to admit to himself. It felt like after all the crap he had to put up with simply living in Prague as an augmented person it shouldn’t have caught him off guard. It should just be another blip in the unending stream of prejudice and bullshit he had to put up with. But it felt different somehow.

Jensen felt sick to his stomach, and took his time heading to Koller’s workshop. He was pretty sure from that garbled mess of a message the engineer wanted him to stop by. Even if he didn’t, Jensen might as well warn him he’d turned off his infolink for now. 

He strolled through the streets, trying to avoid drawing the attention of the cops, keeping his head down, working to be as inconspicuous as possible. Which, admittedly for him, was still pretty damn conspicuous. But he’d had enough of fearful stares for one day.

A bar caught his eye as he walked, causing Jensen to hesitate. He could _definitely_ use a drink about now. Until a patron wandered out, muttering _fucking clanks_ under his breath. Never mind. Jensen had plenty to drink at home. He could wait.

He had a bad feeling traipsing through the sewer before he even got to Koller’s suspiciously open door. The place looked the same as usual, only without Koller, and without some of his most important equipment. Jensen strode into the empty workshop, brows furrowed. He spotted a note sitting on the examination chair. Though any hopes to discover Koller had just stepped out for an errand faded when he read the note.

_Just borrowing him for a bit. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him._

With that none too reassuring note, Jensen immediately set about investigating the disappearance. It hadn’t taken too long between Koller’s last message and Jensen’s arrival; they couldn’t have gotten far. After giving the area a quick but thorough once over, Jensen switched to his Smart Vision, trying to scan for clues he might have missed. Blood spatter, suspicious materials. He could potentially cross reference his last visual imprint of the place for discrepancies. 

However, as he looked around his Smart Vision abruptly flickered out. He frowned. Sure, the thing was an energy hog, but he had plenty of charge. After a moment double checking for error messages, he tried to reactivate it. And this time his vision cut out _entirely._

That sent a bolt of panic right to his core. His head shot up as he looked around, scanning for anything. It was all dark, no hint of the room, no hint of his HUD. No signal, no power. Nothing. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, the world abruptly reappeared, HUD and all. No reboot messages, no artifacting, it just came back. 

The infolink problem was annoying, but at least it was the infolink, not his cochlear implants. Having his vision just…cut out like that? It wasn’t the type of flicker and reboot he was used to that came with an EMP blast or any number of unfortunate events. For a second he worried whether it would come back at all.

Jensen headed for the door, still desperately trying to keep an eye out for clues about Koller, but also thoroughly distracted by such a disturbing experience. He was finally used to his augments, appreciated them even. They’d saved his ass in a lot of tight spots, and helped him out on countless missions. It was just a stark reminder that if they ever failed? Well, if his internal organs failed he’d just be dead. But even if just the external ones failed? Being rendered a blind, deaf torso was probably an even more terrifying fate. 

He lived with that fear constantly early on. But now, two years in his augments finally felt like a part of him. Sure, occasionally there’d be small problems. Needing to lubricate a joint here, a small reflex glitch there. But they were like muscle cramps or twisted ankles to him. Just something that came with having a body. Different than before, but routine. He still hadn’t gotten used to the stares...but that was a different problem. 

These new glitches though? Not knowing what was going on? On top of finding new unconsented to augmentations? It felt like he’d had his feet kicked out from under him.

It was unsettling to think that two years of recovery could be undone in a matter of hours.

After failing to find any clues, and asking around with possible witnesses and getting stonewalled, Jensen gave up the investigation. For now at least. His best bet was to go home and see if he couldn’t get in contact with people who might be able to help. Like Alex or Interpol. Maybe there’d been some actual police report, he could only hope.

Because the day wasn’t bad enough already, the light rain turned into a downpour as Jensen made his way back to his apartment. He shook out his coat before he stepped inside his front door, and still managed to drip everywhere. Jensen scowled, running a hand through his hair, water running down his face and back. Seemed he was going to look like a drowned rat for his video call, but it was urgent.

He called Alex first. Probably for no other reason than wanting to talk to an actually reasonable person for the first time all day. She understood the situation, and was happy to help, and promised to start looking into it. She also prodded Jensen to do the reasonable thing, and check with Interpol for any reports of suspicious activity. A little reluctantly, he followed her advice, and dialed.

“Oh, Agent Jensen! Good timing, your boss was just looking for you. Please hold for a moment, I’ll transfer you,” the dispatch operator said before Jensen even had a chance to open his mouth. 

He’d been temporarily placed back under MacReady’s command, which was unfortunate, because of all the people he wanted to deal with right now, MacReady was not one of them.

“Jensen. I heard from medical that you’re having some issues with your augmentations,” MacReady said, getting straight to the point, again, before Jensen could get a word in. He rocked back on his heels, scowling at the screen.

“So much for doctor-patient confidentiality…” he grumbled, folding his arms.

“Confidentiality isn’t a big concern when our operation’s security could be on the line. You’re being put on medical leave until your...issue has been resolved.”

Jensen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? Why! Since when is an offline infolink a security risk!?”

“It could have been compromised-”

“That is _bullshit_ and you know it!” Jensen snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the screen, his other hand clenched in a tight fist.

“Look. I heard about the incident this afternoon-”

“Incident? What incident!”

“You know damn well what incident. People are spooked, alright? If word gets out that you’re malfunctioning-”

“ _I’M_ not malfunctioning-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, whatever. They don’t want word getting out that a walking death machine with _malfunctioning components_ is wandering around the office. Better? Rumors spread like wildfire, you know how this place is. I’m sorry. It’s not my call. Just. Get your shit sorted out. I put a call into HQ for you to see if they have any specialists they can send your way. In the meantime, think of it as a vacation. I’ll make sure you get paid leave for it, and it won’t affect your PTO or medical-”

“Do you honestly think _that’s_ my problem with this situation?” Jensen interrupted, exasperated, and rapidly growing furious.

“No. I don’t. And I’m done arguing. Just deal with it and let me know when it’s fixed. MacReady out.” 

Jensen collapsed onto the couch, dropping his face to his shaking hands. He didn’t even get a chance to ask for the goddamn police reports...He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had no leads on Koller. His infolink was down. And had no idea where to even start looking. His eyes drifted to the coffee table, spotting a half full whisky bottle from the night before. He grabbed it, spun the top off, flicked it across the room, and started drinking straight from the bottle.

* * *

Jensen experimentally tried turning the link on again. A horrible, deafening burst of static and screeching greeted him, resonating inside his skull. He quickly turned it back off.

“That bad?” Alex asked, leaning across the counter of the dark abandoned shop. Meeting somewhere normal, even after their successful mission, was still too risky.

“It’s worse than before.”

“Shit, man. I was really hoping that last guy... I can’t believe Interpol isn’t helping out…”

Jensen grunted. “I can’t believe they put me on leave.”

“That too. Assholes,” Alex said, shaking her head. A week had passed since Koller’s disappearance. So far all of their very few leads had run dry, and no new ones had popped up. And of course, no improvement in the glitch, despite Alex’s attempts to help Jensen find other engineers. None of them were even able to diagnose what was wrong. Though MacReady did put him in touch with Interpol’s one remaining specialist who could probably fix Jensen up… Once the specialist got to the bottom of her six-month waiting list.

“You sure you don’t know anyone else who can help you out? Guess that Sarif tech is too boutique for my guys,” Alex said with a sigh, poking at the dust on the counter.

Jensen folded his arms with a scowl, it was weird to think of Sarif augs as “boutique,” but he got her meaning. There weren’t a whole lot of experts in his exact tech around here.

Finding Koller before his problems became even more serious seemed like less and less of an option. His vision had cut out a few more times. Usually when he tried to activate other high energy drain augments, not only his Smart Vision. It had left him cautious to do anything but mundane investigating.

He couldn’t help but think about the last time he has problems with his vision. When he’d been called to work six months into his recovery. It was an absurdly short recovery period, but he was grateful to get out of the apartment, get away from the physical therapists and doctors handling him with kid gloves all the time. Spending all his time ruminating on how he had failed, and what he’d become. Some sort of machine. Some sort of monster, even. Having Pritchard be bluntly technical and a complete asshole while fixing his optical implants like it was no big deal was almost refreshing. As much as he wanted to punch him in his smug face it was nice that _someone_ wasn’t treating him any differently.

Everyone had something to say about his “new look.” Like he’d just gone out and got a new haircut. There wasn’t a word from Pritchard, just another day in the office. While the rest of Pritchard’s commentary was completely unnecessary and even cruel, that was also business as usual for that prick.

“You thought of someone didn’t you? You’re scowling. Who?” Alex pried, leaning over the counter. Jensen scowled even harder. “C’mon Adam. I don’t have to tell you how important this is!”

Jensen breathed a resigned sigh. No, he really couldn’t think of anyone else. “Pritchard,” he grumbled. He had grown fond of the hacker since then at least. They developed some mutual respect. But it didn’t change the fact that he was a dick. And annoying. And technically not an engineer, but he definitely knew his way around Sarif tech.

Alex lit up, snapping her fingers. “You’re right! I can contact him for you since you’re- you know,” Alex offered, tapping her head, as if there was a chance he’d forget what the problem was.

Jensen just continued to scowl, trying to think of alternatives. Surely there had to be _someone_ else… He really didn’t want to end up owing Pritchard another favor…

The way Alex’s eyes moved, he could tell she was bringing Pritchard up in her own infolink, about to call him.

“No, wait-” Jensen reached across the counter, as if grabbing her arm would do anything, but she stopped regardless.

“Why? He’s your best choice.”

“But...”

“You think he’s compromised or something?” Alex asked, sounding concerned. 

“No it’s just...he’s so annoying…”

Alex gave him the flattest look possible. “Really?”

Jensen sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I know, fine. I’ll... Just let me do it. He’s more likely to cooperate if I call him. Probably.”

When he got back home, it took a little bit of wrangling to figure out how to contact Pritchard. Jensen was fully confident the hacker would still accept his infolink’s signal, but sadly that piece of tech was his exact problem. Luckily, while Jensen might not have been a hacker by trade, he knew his way around certain back doors well enough. 

By the time he had everything set up, he realized it would probably be close to three in the morning in Detroit. He half hoped Pritchard would be asleep and not answer. The possibility of waking him up was also an entertaining thought, but knowing Pritchard he was probably awake.

The screen flickered on, revealing a side view of Pritchard’s head, and the sound of furious typing on a different computer. 

“Hold on, I’m a bit busy right now…” Pritchard snapped, not even glancing to the screen, his voice distracted and strained.

“Nice to see you too, Pritchard,” Jensen said. The typing stopped, and Pritchard turned to the screen with a look of surprise.

“Jensen? What are you- I wasn’t expecting to hear from you-” Pritchard started, before the faint glow of the other screen reflecting of his sweaty face turned to a flashing red. He glanced back, doing a quick double take and swearing. A few seconds of frantic typing later he swore, and the glow flickered off. Pritchard ran a shaky hand down his face as Jensen waited, smirking.

“That was three hours of work you just ruined…” Pritchard grumbled. Jensen shrugged.

“You didn’t need to stop on my account,” he said with a smug smile, folding his arms as he leaned back on his couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Okay, this was shaping up to be worth it.

“Can I help you with something, Jensen?”

“Can’t a guy just drop a line and say hello to an old buddy?”

“Sure they can. But, one, you’re contacting me through...this,” Pritchard said, gesturing to the screen, “at three in the morning. And two, you’re you. So no.”

Jensen took a steadying breath. Well, here came the unpleasant part. “I need your help with something.”

“Oh? I’m listening. Though I should warn you, I’m in pretty high demand right now, my services do not come cheaply,” Pritchard said with a smile, now was his opportunity to look smug.

Jensen scowled. “I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

Pritchard sighed. “What is it then?”

“I’m having problems with my infolink. And my optical implants. My regular guy here is missing, and we’re coming up short on engineers who know much about Sarif tech. I was hoping you could take a look at it.”

“You know I’m a hacker, not an engineer…Doesn’t _Prag_ have a huge augmented population? Surely someone...”

“For one, it’s Prague, and Pritchard-” Jensen started, exasperated.

“BUT I do believe I still have your schematics laying around here somewhere. And probably know more than most of them. We didn’t have a huge market share in Europe compared to other manufacturers. If you stop by, I can probably get you fixed up.”

“No, I’d need you to come here. I’m on suspension with Interpol, and it’s flagged half my papers so I’m pretty much grounded,” Jensen explained, venom seeping into his voice. Not only were Interpol not helping, they were making it even harder for him to _get_ help. Typical.

“Suspended? What did you do? Finally punch a CO or something?”

“I’m on forced medical leave for existing with a malfunctioning augment.”

Pritchard scowled, rolling his eyes. “Typical.” He paused, thinking it over for a moment. “Jensen, I’m sorry, but I do have jobs I have to do, I-”

“I’ll owe you one,” Jensen finally offered, much to his chagrin.

Pritchard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, thinking on it for a good long while this time. Finally he sagged back in his chair, looking defeated and exhausted, the adrenaline from whatever hack Jensen interrupted finally wearing off. “Fine. Fine...I’ll do it…”

“Great, how soon can you get here.”

Pritchard narrowed his eyes at Jensen, frowning. “I-I don’t know. I have to pack up my equipment, and _sleep_ and it’s not a short flight, hell, what kind of departure times…and figure out a passport...” he muttered, trailing off as he turned to the other screen, stifling a yawn. 

“You don’t have a passport?” Jensen asked, dumbfounded.

“I have several. I just...can’t remember which ones are good right now…”

Jensen rolled his eyes. He should have known. “Well, let me know when you have an ETA. Jensen out,” Jensen said, ending the transmission as Pritchard was opening his mouth to reply. Well, that wasn’t as painful as he expected. Apparently calling him in the middle of the night was the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I never do slow burn, WHY AM I DOING THISSS  
> -Capitalism is bad friends


	2. Chapter 2

Pritchard stifled a yawn as he trudged through the dark, damp streets of Prague, weighed down by a heavy backpack and dragging an even heavier suitcase stuffed full of equipment, though at least the latter was on wheels. Once again, he wondered why he agreed to this. He had clients breathing down his neck, he wasn’t getting paid, and _goddamn_ international travel was awful. Just. Truly awful. 

After Jensen oh so abruptly ended their call, Pritchard had a few things to take care of before he finally crashed for the night. Then one of his clients had the _gall_ to wake him up at nine in the morning to ask about progress. But at least five hours of sleep was far from the worst he’d ever run on, not by a long shot. 

He’d decided to book about the earliest flight he could reasonably make. On top of Jensen’s annoying insistence, Pritchard figured if he got to Prague, he could patch Jensen up quickly, and make it back within a couple days, and cause minimal disruption to his schedule. Sadly, he made the foolish mistake of not booking a direct flight. Delays in the first made him miss his connection, and now thirteen hours of travel later and no sleep (thanks to a particularly angry baby on his transatlantic flight) he was in the depths of second guessing his decision to come.

But, he supposed, he had another project looming that might require someone with Jensen’s skills. So maybe this was a business trip after all? If Jensen agreed to it. There was no promise he would, favor or not.

And maybe, just maybe a small part of him was excited to see Jensen. Last they spoke, he really didn’t think they would ever cross paths again. But he supposed he should have known. After all, Jensen reached out to Pritchard when he was supposed to be dead. It was actually kind of nice to be needed...

He quickly shook away that overly sentimental thought. This was obviously a friendly sort of business transaction. He was sure that’s how Jensen thought of it. Prichard was just a useful tool in his weird Illuminati fighting arsenal or whatever his agenda was these days.

Finally Pritchard arrived at his destination. He awkwardly pulled the door open, then promptly had it slam shut on his bag as the wheels got caught on the threshold. Pritchard angrily wrestled with it for a few moments before finally staggering all the way inside the building. The lobby was cheerfully lit even though it was the middle of the night. Fresh flowers sat on an antique gold leafed end table, and his rolling suitcase thankfully stopped vibrating his hand off, gliding smoothly across the marble floor. 

It was nicer in person than Pritchard expected given their fairly middle of the road costs. He might have hacked their system and booked himself a free room on the trip over, and took the opportunity to snoop their finances. He had to keep costs down somehow, and they looked like they could afford a freeloader.

The woman behind the reception counter smiled politely at him, then glanced down at her monitor, after a few moments her gaze returned to him, her smile fading, becoming tight.

“Hello sir, may I help you?”

“Yes, I have a reservation for this evening. Under Colvin.”

The receptionist glanced down at the computer again, not bothering to even do anything before she looked back to Pritchard. “I’m sorry sir, I’m going to have to check with my floor manager…”

Pritchard scowled. “Okay…” he said hesitantly, as the woman excused herself. He glanced around apprehensively. He didn’t like this. He mentally backtracked his hack. It was child’s play, it was a nice hotel, yes, but not nice enough of one to have that good of security. If it wasn’t his hack what was it? She hadn’t asked for his passport or papers yet. There couldn’t be a warrant out with his face, he hadn’t been caught doing anything lately…Nothing traceable at least. And more importantly, no one but Jensen knew he was coming to Prague.

By floor manager, it seemed the woman meant bouncer, as she arrived a few minutes later with an enormous beast of a man, albeit one nicely dressed in the hotel’s sleek black uniform.

“I’m sorry sir, but this establishment is for naturals only,” he said firmly, as the woman slipped back in place behind the counter.

Pritchard’s mind spun a little. His reservation claimed he wasn’t augmented, a claim he was generally able to get away with thanks to the fact that his hair covered virtually all visible signs of his augs. There must have been a security scan in the doorway he missed while fighting his damn suitcase. Usually he wouldn’t have bothered taking the risk, but from what he could tell online, every hotel that allowed augs in the city was a shithole. 

“Oh, there must be a misunderstanding. Do you have a scanner? I have a non-augmented medical implant that gets mistaken sometimes-” Pritchard started.

“Yeah, I’m sure you have a pacemaker...in your skull,” the man said, folding his arms and puffing out his chest. “Don’t try your shit on me, aug.”

“But I have the documentation to show-” Pritchard said, fumbling for the correct set of forgeries in his coat pocket, before the huge man took a few menacing steps forward.

“Leave, clank, before I’m forced to remove you from the premises,” the man said, not even bothering to glance at the documents Pritchard produced. The hacker took a couple steps back, seeing the man’s blood pressure spike. He clearly wasn’t buying it, and seemed to be jonesing for an excuse to ruin someone’s night. 

“Fine! Fine, I don’t want to cause any trouble. Jeeze… But I’ll have you know I’m leaving a terrible review for this place and your...customer service,” Pritchard huffed, stuffing the documents back in his coat.

“You are lucky we do not have you arrested, hanzer. Lying on your reservation form.”

“I didn’t-” Pritchard let out an exasperated sigh, but it was useless. “Whatever. I hope you all have a shitty evening,” he said, waving goodbye and stomping out the door. 

Pritchard pulled out his phone as he put distance between himself and the hotel. He checked the aug friendly hotels again, scrolling through with disgust. As a resident of Detroit, he had a pretty high tolerance for run down shitty buildings. But there was no way he wasn’t getting bedbugs in any of those establishments.

Maybe some of the anti-aug places wouldn’t have security scans, but who knew how many tries that would take. It’s not exactly something they advertised on their websites. If this place had them, it was probably pretty standard. Finally he gave up. He’d just go impose on Jensen’s couch. Jensen was, after all, the entire reason Pritchard was even in this awful city. 

Detroit wasn’t exactly a place of aug and natural unity; far from it. Tensions were high before the Incident, and even higher now. But there were no naturals only buildings or subway cars. At least none that were legally enforced. There were very dangerous places around town for both groups, but the government sanctioned separation was disconcerting to put it mildly.

As he walked, he hacked the asshole hotel’s website on his phone. It took him less than ten minutes with one hand to find all the credit account information for every guest staying there. He scrolled through the data, spotting a Soloto Electronics corporate black card. He blinked. That was the kind of thing with a limit in the tens of millions. He could get a nice price for the card’s info on the black market...but the rest of his plan would ruin it’s worth shortly. And credit card theft wasn’t really his thing. 

Though he did wonder what on earth was someone with near unlimited spending power was doing staying at such a mediocre hotel. He looked up the guest’s name and found a very fake sounding one. Ah. Probably with an escort. He filed the information away to look into later, and see if he could figure out the holder’s identity. Could be useful to have some leverage on a Soloto employee.

Finding nothing else interesting, Pritchard tossed the credit card numbers and their accompanying guest information into an email, and sent it to the hotel. He titled the email “0/5 stars, customer service and security at this hotel sucks.” Though before he hit send, he made sure to go in and erase the security footage of his stop, just to be safe. It’s what the idiots got for storing their security footage on a remote server.

This is why Pritchard hated travel...

The city seemed to decay as he traveled towards Jensen’s apartment building, he was almost reminded of home. Buildings falling into disrepair, trash in the streets, and about two hundred percent too many police. Honestly it was probably worse than home. He started to wonder if Jensen’s apartment would be any better than the aug friendly hotels…

Pritchard groaned loudly finding no elevator. And of course, Jensen lived on the top floor, why wouldn’t he? He cursed his way up the stairs with his heavy load, his suitcase getting stuck repeatedly on random garbage the entire way. By the time he reached Jensen’s door he felt like his damn arms were about to fall off, and he’d gotten his workout for the entire month. 

Pritchard pounded on Jensen’s door with as much vigor as his now completely exhausted limbs could muster. No answer. He scowled at the door, trying two more times. Still no answer. Last time he pinged Jensen he knew he was inside, and Pritchard had a hard time believing Jensen was _that_ heavy a sleeper. 

Maybe he was just ignoring his door. This wasn’t exactly the nicest part of town. “It’s me, open up!” Pritchard hissed, hopefully loud enough to be heard through the door, but not announcing himself to all the neighbors. Still nothing. He didn’t even hear movement. What if…? His gut sank a little. Maybe he should be worried. Jensen was more than capable of taking care of himself but this wasn't the nicest part of town. And Jensen spent his days and nights pissing off even worse people.

Pritchard glanced around, making sure no one was watching, before settling in to quickly hack the lock. After checking again to make sure no one had seen him, he slipped inside.

“Jensen, you really need to get a better security pad. A child could hack that thing,” Pritchard huffed, announcing himself as he dragged his luggage in. It was a nice apartment, at least compared to the filth outside. The television was on, Eliza Cassan’s smug face blathering on in her soothing endless stream lies. 

Pritchard looked around with a frown, still no sign of him. He strode to the TV to turn off Picus’s propaganda when he finally spotted the man. Jensen was curled up around a throw pillow, fast asleep on the couch. It was a strange sight. His shoes and jacket were off, his leaving bare cybernetic feet and arms exposed, and his dark lenses were retracted for once. Pritchard was struck, for how ordinary the scene should have been, he never expected to see Jensen like this. Something about his expression, the way he clutched the throw pillow to his chest. He looked…

Vulnerable. 

And cold. That was probably the real reason he was clutching the pillow. His augmented limbs probably did little to keep him warm. Though, at least as far as Pritchard understood, they didn’t get cold the way flesh and bone did. In Jensen’s case, however, he had so little organic body mass left, who could guess what that did to his temperature regulation…

A frown crept onto Pritchard’s lips at the train of thought, his eyes drifting away. Waking him up seemed like the obvious thing to do. But the noise hadn’t woken him up yet, and shaking him awake seemed like a bad plan. With everything Jensen had been through, and the fact that he was dead asleep and didn’t know Pritchard was coming? It sounded like a recipe for getting a broken nose if he was lucky, or carbon fiber blade lodged in his abdomen if he wasn’t. Regardless, he should be a courteous uninvited houseguest and get him a blanket. 

The bedroom was easy to find. Pritchard couldn’t help but snoop when he noticed an actual, paper book on Jensen’s night stand. He smiled faintly. Jensen seemed to have a fondness for paper books, if the piles in his living room were any indication. It was...cute. His smile faded as he picked up the book, reading its title, _Let it Go._ Jensen never struck him as the self-help type, and indeed the spine was so stiff he doubted Jensen had actually spent any time reading it. Even if it would probably do him good…

Pritchard put the book back, making sure to position it the way he’d found it. He yanked a blanket from the unmade bed, slinking back out of the room. He returned to the couch and draped it over Jensen, who didn’t even stir at the addition.

Shaking his head, he looked to the coffee table, remembering why he walked over to the couch in the first place, to shut Eliza up. But that’s when he noticed something else. An empty bottle of absinthe tipped on its side, the accompanying glass on the floor. Well, at least Jensen had bothered to drink out of a glass. Pritchard could only _hope_ the bottle wasn’t full when the evening started. Either way, it seemed Jensen wasn’t simply asleep, but passed out. That would certainly explain why he didn’t come to the door.

Pritchard grabbed the remote, and turned off the TV. He quietly picked up the glass and toppled bottle, moving them to the kitchen. He set the glass in the sink, promptly discovery more bottles of liquor, many of which were empty. He knew Jensen drank probably a little more than he should. It was a common vice, especially for someone like Jensen. But downing liters and liters of hard liquor? That was a problem. When did he even find _time_ to drink this much? It seemed like he was constantly working.

He leaned on the counter with a long sigh. Jensen’s augments helped him filter alcohol out of his system fairly quickly. However, it was possible to overwhelm them with large amounts of hard liquor, and cripple their filtering capacity for a while, letting a person stay drunk longer, a trick Jensen had seemingly figured out. But it was a dangerous game to play. Particularly for someone who had so little organic body mass left. Pritchard felt the need to lecture him about it brewing, but surely Jensen knew that already? Hopefully? It wasn’t a conversation Pritchard exactly wanted to have either way.

A queasy, unpleasant feeling settled in Pritchard’s gut. This snooping, albeit unintentional, all reminded him of when Jensen was declared dead. It took a while after the Incident for Sarif to get around to dealing with Jensen’s departure. But eventually it was time to clean out his office, and securing any confidential Sarif Industries tech or information he might have had. Pritchard volunteered to stop by Jensen’s apartment and pick up his computer, and sweep for anything important other crews might miss. Really, he doubted there was anything to be found. Instead some...voyeuristic curiosity pushed him to go personally.

He smiled despite himself when he saw the workbench covered in electronics. He never pictured Jensen as the tinkering type, didn’t think he would have the patience for it. Then again on missions he’d always shown remarkable restraint and precision timing, allowing him to so often slip through completely unnoticed. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

Most of his snooping elicited something of a melancholic fondness. But when he found the broken mirror in the bathroom. With the impact sight the right size and height for a fist, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to put together what happened. A great rush of sadness and pity washed over him, followed by the feeling that if Jensen knew Pritchard _pitied_ him he would kick the hacker’s ass. The notion made Pritchard laugh, an almost deranged little laugh, born of grief and weeks of too much stress to consciously deal with. The laugh dissolved as quickly as it came on into a choked sob. 

His back hit the wall and he slowly crumpled to the floor, silent tears streaking his cheeks for the first and only time since the “Incident.” The mirror was just one more human, personal tragedy piled on top of the horrors of the last several weeks. The grief of losing so many friends and acquaintances, the terror of hiding as his coworkers tore each other and themselves apart, the helplessness watching it all happen, the guilt wondering if he could have done something, _anything_ to stop all of it. That in the end, he couldn’t help Jensen. Couldn’t do anything but hide locked away in his office, staring at his computer. 

When it was finally over. When he finally opened the door, stepped out into the halls of the building he spent more time in than his actual home...He’d never seen so much blood before. 

Pritchard hadn’t gotten the chip upgrade; he’d been too cautious. Maybe he should have warned more people to wait until his tests were complete. Why would he protect himself but not others? Maybe he could have taken his computer to the roof, wired in to one of their satellites directly, manipulated it manually, maybe he could have boosted the signal and gotten through to Jensen, been able to help in some small way. Maybe there was something else he could have done, like finding a way to jam the signal being broadcast making his colleagues lose their minds, protected a small portion of the city. Surely, he could have done _something._

But he wasn’t a hero. He was just trying to survive, watch out for himself. Sure, hacking wasn’t without risk, but he enjoyed it. There was a thrill in outsmarting his opponents, getting in undetected, finding forbidden things. The risk to his person was...manageable. Sure, he’d been arrested before, but he wasn’t about to get shot at. He couldn’t put himself into the line of a bunch of people having dangerous hallucinations to get torn apart. 

He supposed he’d walled himself off from all the raw horrors he’d experienced up until that moment, all the regrets and guilt. The mirror was just a different kind of emotional hurt, one he wasn’t prepared for, one that was just enough to make the walls come crashing down. 

It didn’t last long though. The thought of the official cleanup crew arriving and finding him crying on his dead coworker’s bathroom floor like a lunatic was an unappealing one. He splashed some cold water on his face and pulled himself back together. He glanced up at the mirror, glaring at the shards of his reflection. Useless for telling if he actually _looked_ put back together. He grabbed the soap dispenser and slammed it against the mirror. On the second hit the glass shards started to fall, raining in a cascade all over the sink and floor. Now no one would be able to tell what happened to the mirror.

He had worried about Jensen despite himself after he got all those augments. Before the man always carried himself so confidently. He was such an insufferable bro when they first met, Pritchard just wanted to wring his neck. Hiring an ex-cop seemed like the dumbest nonsense in the world. As far as Pritchard was concerned, they were all a bunch of incompetent bullies. But after the augments? 

It took Pritchard a little while to notice, but Jensen carried himself differently. Other than the literal, physical changes simply brought on by the augments. Sure, he still seemed like the same confident professional. But now there was an underlying caustic current leaving him quick to anger. And the confidence. Before it was authentic. After? He was closed off. The way he interacted with people struck Pritchard as an act. The only time he seemed to relax, ironically, was when he was in the field. Alone.

He might not have even noticed if it weren’t for his own augments. People knew he had augments to help him hack. What people didn’t realize was social engineering was one of the most powerful tools a hacker had at their disposal, which made a CASIE augment an invaluable tool. He was so aggressively uncharming most of the time people would never guess he had it. Which was good, in a way, he didn’t like for people to know. Besides, faking it was exhausting even with an augment. Passing himself off as an electrician to get physical access to a server room and pretending to be someone’s friend were very different tasks.

Even after everything, Jensen proved himself capable. Pritchard’s hostile jabs slid so smoothly into friendly banter he almost didn’t notice it happening. Not until he found himself sweating during Jensen’s missions, not worried that it would end poorly for the company, but specifically worried about Jensen’s wellbeing. Or the overwhelming relief he felt when Jensen contacted him after Pritchard lost his signal. And for as much shit as they gave each other, especially over their unending security pissing contest, Pritchard did enjoy working with him. Considered him a friend, even. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Pritchard didn’t have many of those…

A yawn shook him from his dreary reminiscing. The whole goddamn reason he’d even shown up here was to get some sleep. But now it turned out Jensen’s couch was occupied. By Jensen.

Well. The bed was free. But it would be weird to just invite himself over and sleep in Jensen’s bed, right? Maybe even creepy? The damn CASIE aug didn’t help him in these kinds of social situations. Why didn’t this bastard have any other comfortable chairs in his apartment? 

He groaned, leaning down, resting his forehead on the counter. He was so damn tired. Surely sweeping all the bottles off and sleeping on the counter would be even weirder than curling up in Jensen’s bed. He could feel his cheeks flushing against the cold counter top at the notion of being “in Jensen’s bed,” suddenly immensely grateful Jensen was asleep and couldn’t see the stupid reaction with HIS aug. There was nothing suggestive about this situation. It was in fact the least sexy reason to be in someone else’s bed.

_Maybe it’s not weird at all to go sleep in that bed. You just think it’s weird because you have an ulterior motive for wanting to be in the bed._ Pritchard thumped his head against the counter at the traitorous thought. He was way too fucking sleep deprived for this. And he was most certainly did not want to be in Jensen’s bed in a non-platonic way. That was ridiculous. Just because he was a highly attractive, highly competent man. Jensen was also a well concealed mess with a hero complex who liked to get way over his head with dangerous conspiracies who treated Pritchard with little more than contempt. Some friendship they had. And he was probably an alcoholic. He glanced around at the bottles again. Definitely an alcoholic. 

_If you slept in his bed you’d use his pillow too. And bedding. It probably all smells like him. That would be weird._ Pritchard thumped his head against the counter several more times. This was all too stupid to deal with.

He had once been accused by a fellow hacker and supposed friend of behaving like a little boy who pulled the pigtails of the girl he liked in regards to his relationship with Jensen. Pritchard _strongly_ disagreed with this assessment, and resented the accusation. But it planted the nagging question in his mind that refused to go away even after all this time.

Finally making up his mind, Pritchard walked to the couch. Jensen looked a little less tense now. Almost peaceful since he’d warmed up a little. Good.

Pritchard gently pushed his feet out of the way, and sat down at the furthest edge of the couch as he could. He draped the extra length of blanket over his legs. It was a little chilly in there, after all. Jensen barely even stirred; the guy was definitely passed out. Pritchard could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the couch. He supposed that was probably a good thing, it meant Jensen’s augments had stepped back up to the task of scrubbing the liquor from his body. 

He sighed, staring at the blank TV screen. It felt weird sitting there, staring at it in the dark. Reluctantly he reached for the remote. 

_“Reporting to you live, from Picus,”_ Eliza’s soft voice crooned as soon as the screen flickered back on.

“Oh can it…” Pritchard muttered, his eyes sliding closed. Soon the quiet drone of advertisements and twenty-four hours of sleep deprivation took over as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hopefully the chapter wasn't too meandering. Gotta get everything in place. Next chapter will be much more fun.


	3. Chapter 3

Jensen woke with a pounding headache and an awful kink in his neck. He slowly cracked his eyes open, wincing at the faint dawn light creeping in through the blinds. It took him a second to notice a blanket draped over him. When the hell…?

He started to stir and stretch out, his foot hitting something, no, someone. Pritchard sat at the far end of the couch, his chin resting on his chest, fast asleep. His hair was greasy and messy, with more of it falling out of his ponytail than usual, draping across his angular face. Saying he looked a bit disheveled was an understatement. 

Over their vid chats, it struck Jensen that Pritchard looked like he’d aged ten years over the past two. A sorry state of affairs reflected in a lot of people, unfortunately. But in person there was at least a little bit more of the Pritchard he remembered. Even if he did need a shower. 

Jensen gave Pritchard’s leg a kick, startling the man awake. Pritchard looked around, momentarily alarmed and confused, then winced, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“When the hell did you get here?” Jensen asked, his voice scratchy and rough even by his standards.

Pritchard yawned, still rubbing his neck. “I don’t know. Close to three? I think? What time is it…?” 

Jensen rubbed his eyes before pulling up his HUD to check. “Six.”

Pritchard let out what could only be described as a long suffering groan, rubbing his palms into his eyes, throwing his head back, before mouthing a silent _ow, ow, ow, ow-,_ and starting to rub his neck again.

“What are you doing here?”

“The hotels in this town are awful.” 

“So you just invited yourself over?”

“I’m sorry. I just figured since I was helping _you_ I’d be able to crash on _your_ couch. I also thought it would be preferable if I was well rested and not suffering from mysterious rashes when I go digging around in your software,” Pritchard muttered.

“You know, you could have just used the bed since I was already here,” Jensen pointed out.

“I-I know. It seemed like a weird thing to do,” Pricthard said, looking away. Jensen’s social aug picked up a smattering of tells, none of which he could make any sense of. And right now he wasn’t sure he really cared.

“Right.”

Jensen tossed the blanket aside and slowly heaved himself off the couch. The world sloshed a little as he stood, forcing him to brace himself on the backrest, nearly tipping over.

“Jesus, Jensen. Are you _still_ drunk?” Pritchard asked, sounding more alarmed than judgmental. But still a little judgmental. 

Jensen winced. “It’s not like I knew I was going to have company…”

“That’s not it- you- it should be out of your system by now. If it’s taking this long your Sentinel, hell, your entire health support system might need to be backflushed already,” Pritchard explained. Jensen knew there were plenty of other things he wasn’t saying. Such as how much alcohol it would take to cripple his systems for this long. Or how much abuse it would take for his health systems to need flushing so soon. 

“Yeah, well, that seems to be the least of my problems right now,” Jensen said, walking to the bathroom and closing the door before Pritchard had a chance to answer. What a way to start a morning: hungover with Pritchard bitching at him. He knew getting the hacker involved was going to be a pain.

Jensen decided to take his time in the bathroom. He stood in the shower for far longer than was strictly necessary; the water did wonders for his headache, and the tensing muscles in his back that were already acting up. He then spent a good long while touching up his beard. Pritchard could wait. By the time he emerged, he felt pretty much sober, and much less hung over. His augs really were a boon sometimes. He threw on a fresh pair of pants before he headed back to the living room.

Jensen half expected to find Pritchard fiddling with his computer. It was almost hard to imagine the hacker doing anything else. But when Jensen finally emerged from his morning routine, well over an hour later, he instead found Pritchard laying face down on the couch dead asleep. The hacker was tangled up in the blanket, one of his legs sticking awkwardly over the armrest. Jensen had left unconscious bodies in more comfortable positions than that. What even was that? 

Even though his head was doing better, Jesen still needed coffee. He walked to the kitchen and started a pot. No matter how much noise he seemed to make, Pritchard didn’t move an inch. Seemed he really was tired.

Then, as if woken from the dead by the one thing that truly fueled him, Pritchard finally stirred as Jensen poured a cup of coffee. As he started to sit up, he had to disentangle himself from the blanket, which was an amazingly fraught and awkward process, and incredibly stupid to watch. Jensen smiled despite himself, watching Pritchard losing a fight with a blanket. Jensen took pity on the now even more disheveled hacker, and brought him the freshly poured cup of coffee.

“Oh thank god…” Pritchard murmured as he took the mug, one hand still trapped in the blanket. How had he caused such a problem for himself in so little time?

“You’re welcome?” Jensen said with a smirk. Pritchard just gave him side eye and grumbled, looking too tired to even snark. He took a large sip of the scalding hot coffee without even a flinch.

Jensen shrugged and returned to the kitchen, pouring himself a mug, though waited for his to cool off a little bit before drinking. 

After what was almost starting to become a pleasant silence as they enjoyed their coffee, Pritchard finally had to open his mouth. “You know, you really should get a better lock for your door. It took me about five seconds to hack it.”

“All my valuables are in my wall safe. It has much better security.”

“ _You_ don’t fit in the wall safe. What if someone wanted you dead? You spend all your time trying to piss off the kind of people who’d be happy to put a hit on you.”

“Come on Francis, you really think an assassin's going to get me? I can take care of myself.”

“ _I_ could have murdered you last night, if I was so inclined.” 

“I would have woken up if you tried.”

“I could have tipped you out of the couch and you wouldn’t have woken up,” Pritchard snapped. Jensen was fairly certain Pritchard wouldn’t be strong enough to tip him out of the couch, but supposed that was a moot point. And annoyingly he was right.

“I’ll look into it.”

“What is this? Adam Jensen actually making a concession about security?” Pritchard said, his hand fluttering dramatically to his chest. “Is the world ending?”

Jensen decided to ignore him, instead opening a cupboard and pulling out a box of energy bars. He grabbed one for himself and tossed a second in Pritchard’s general direction...which ended up nailing the hacker right in the side of the head. Not intentional. But nice regardless.

“H-hey! Oh...thanks,” Pritchard muttered as he picked up the energy bar. “You’ve certainly stolen enough of these things from me.”

“Might have something to do with why I was never big on your security advice,” Jensen said, a smirk twisting its way onto his lips. He did enjoy breaking into Pritchard’s office and stealing damn near everything that wasn’t bolted down. Half the time he’d just leave the ill-gotten gains on his own desk in clear view of the window, just to piss him off, and to highlight where his security measures were lacking. 

“Is that a _smile?_ Wow, the problem with your augs must really be serious. Maybe you have a virus that’s finally breaking down your moody loner facade.”

“Ah, Francis. I really missed that charm,” Jensen said with all the sarcasm he could muster. Pritchard laughed, taking a bite of the energy bar, and making a slightly disgusted face as he chewed. But at least it shut him up for a second. They lapsed into silence again for a moment. But this time Pritchard kept giving him odd sidelong looks. Jensen narrowed his eyes. Pritchard obviously wanted to say something. He supposed he could bite.

“What?”

“Do...do you make a habit of not wearing shirts?” Pritchard asked, eyeing his bare chest pointedly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve seen you shirtless more than...well. More than most people. Which is weird considering the mostly business nature of our relationship.”

“Mostly business?” 

Pritchard just rolled his eyes. “Well it’s pretty shoddy business practice to be out here helping you and not getting paid for it.”

Jensen shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. What, do you never go shirtless in your own apartment?”

“Yes, I mean, no! I mean of course I do. But. Not- I mean quite honestly usually if I’m foregoing a standard garment it’s usually pants-”

“I really didn’t need to know that.”

“I mean, at least on vid calls no one will know if you’re not wearing pants-”

“Francis. _Please_ tell me you’ve been wearing pants for all of our calls.”

Pritchard hesitated far longer than was acceptable in Jensen’s opinion. “Yes. Well… Probably…? Most of the time. Why would it matter!?”

“Because it’s _weird,_ Pritchard!”

“No weirder than you running around without your shirt on all the time!”

“Yes weirder than running around without a shirt!”

“Hey boys, sorry to interrupt-” Pritchard let out a horrible strangled noise of alarm, and was lucky he’d already drank most of his coffee from how badly he jumped as the television suddenly addressed them directly. 

“Hi Alex. Sorry, didn’t notice you. I was too distracted by Francis here revealing his gross habits.”

“It’s perfectly normal!”

“Sorry man, I gotta side with Pritchard here. I’m pretty sure taking your pants off is like...a prerequisite for hacking.” 

“See? SEE? She gets it.”

Jensen ran a hand down his face. 

“And really,” Alex pointed out with a grin, “if one of you doesn’t have a shirt and the other doesn’t have pants I feel like it kinda. Balances out, yeah?”

“Is there a point we’re getting to...?” Jensen asked, so far over this conversation he was done with it before it even started.

“Sorry, I was just checking in to see if Pritchard arrived yet. Which, I see that he has,” she said, offering Pritchard a small wave. “And to let you know I think I have a lead on Koller. But there’s only so much I can do. You might need to go back in the field for the follow up, we’ll have to see.”

“Great. Pritchard, how long is this going to take?”

“I don’t know! Let’s see, I’m working on what? Four hours of sleep? And haven’t even run a diagnostic yet, that’ll take quite a while itself. It’s going to take some time…”

“Just don’t rush it, we don’t need anyone’s circuits getting fried here. The good news is, if my lead’s correct, Koller’s safe. That note about borrowing him might be pretty close to accurate,” Alex said. “Let me know when you have news.”

“Sure thing,” Jensen said, Alex smiled and nodded, ending the transmission. “We should get started.”

Pritchard yawned. “Yeah, I guess...But do you mind if I shower first? I feel disgusting…” 

Jensen scowled. 

“Look, you can start unpacking and setting up the equipment if you’re in such a hurry. It’s all in the rolling suitcase. I trust you at least know the basics of the equipment needed to run a diagnostic?”

“Fine, go shower, I’ll get things set up. Don’t need you stinking up my apartment anyway…”

“How generous of you,” Pritchard grumbled, rolling his eyes. He then proceeded to pound the rest of his coffee, and devour the rest of his protein bar in a manner that reminded Jensen more of a snake than a civilized human being. Maybe that’s where he got his hacking handle…

With Pritchard off to shower, Jensen decided to throw on a shirt before he started unpacking the equipment. He usually got sweaty during diagnostics; it was probably for the best. 

As Jensen unpacked the equipment, he wondered how Pritchard got some of it through airport security, but supposed hackers probably had their ways.

He set everything up next to the couch, figuring that would be the easiest place to sit, and not risk falling. Involuntary and unexpected movements in his augments weren’t unheard of during diagnostics and basic calibrations. But mostly he just wanted to be comfortable, or as comfortable as possible.

About the time Jensen got everything unpacked (there was a truly alarming number of things carefully jig sawed into that single suitcase) Pritchard emerged, looking clean and refreshed, wearing his usual white turtleneck and baggy pants that probably weren’t as baggy on anyone with a less skinny frame. His hair was still damp, hanging around his shoulders as he casually dragged his fingers through it and rustled it, apparently trying to detangle it or air it out. With his hair always pulled back the way it was, and greasy half the time, Jensen never noticed it actually looked quite nice.

“That’s much better. Great, looks like you got everything, I guess we can get started,” Pritchard said, sounding more awake and alert as well as looking it. He gestured for Jensen to sit on the couch, but swung into the kitchen to pour himself more coffee before joining him.

“I need to tell you before we start, your schematics are going to be a little out of date,” Jensen said, trying to suppress his frown. 

“Oh, been getting blackmarket additions? Don’t you have enough tech crammed in there?”

“No. Not exactly,” Jensen swallowed, reluctant to broach the topic. He didn’t like thinking about it generally. “Koller- the engineer here, found some unconnected experimental augs. They uh... Supposedly aren’t Sarif tech. I confronted Sarif about it. It seems the most likely bet is they were installed after Panchaea while I was unconscious. They seem to be experimental,” Jensen explained.

Prichard leaned back looking vaguely horrified. He eyed Jensen apprehensively with a frown. “I...um. Do you have the schematics for the new ones?” 

Jensen nodded. “Don’t have the exact specs, but I have what Koller gave me,” he said, directing Pritchard to the correct file on his laptop. The hacker quickly transferred the files over to his system, chewing his lip the whole time.

“I think this should be all I need. And. I’m uh, sorry…that...happened to you,” Pritchard said slowly, hesitantly, like he wasn’t even sure he should say it. 

Jensen shrugged. “At least a couple have come in useful.”

“I would imagine. But still…” he glanced back at Jensen, who remained impassive. He did appreciate the sentiment, but he’d dealt with it, for now. “Right. Well, I think we can get started. Do you have any sedatives? Deep scans are usually pretty unpleasant...” Pritchard asked.

“No, I don’t, but I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but if I do find something I have to...really get in there for, we’ll need sedatives. It can be dangerous without them.”

“There’s a guy downstairs that usually has a pretty good stock.”

“Convenient…” Pritchard sat on the coffee table across from Jensen, leaning in, examining. “Let’s see…” he muttered, too focused on his work to notice he was uncomfortably close to Jensen’s personal space. He reached a hand out, pushing the plate on Jensen’s forehead aside with his thumb, and plugged in the first port. “Here goes…” he said, pressing a button on his computer.

The sensation was all too familiar. It started as a slow, not unpleasant throb, spreading from his head, reaching a few inches at a time further down his body with every pulse. But once the sensation finally reached his feet was when the true unpleasantness of the diagnostic scans began.

As the pulses persisted down his limbs they made his non-existent skin crawl, causing phantoms of sensations he wasn’t even capable of having anymore, leaving him twitchy and overstimulated. At least it was a small relief to know the unpleasant experience was pretty universal, though usually limited in scope to a person’s augmentations, and the areas directly around them. Considering Jensen barely had a few square centimeters of flesh that weren’t touching an augment, it got to be a full body unpleasantness. It was no wonder the old LIMB clinics sedated people for just about everything.

Pritchard hummed and hawed unhelpfully, looking at his screen. Once the test had been running for about ten minutes, Pritchard snapped his fingers.

“Oh, crap, I almost forgot about that port…” Pritchard he said. He stood and wandered around behind Jensen, a long cord in tow. “Need to access your rear cranial port,” he said before he pressed his fingers to the back of Jensen’s head, gently tilting it forward. “Right, where is it...they did such an amazing job hiding it…” Pritchard said half to himself as he ran his fingers from the base of Jensen’s neck up, combing exploratorily up through the hair along the back of his head. The sensation sent a shiver through Jensen’s entire body, raising goosebumps down his neck and arms- not that the latter was possible, but the sensation remained. 

Jensen fought down a full body shudder as Prichard’s fingers combed through his hair again, his eyes nearly rolling back. Pritchard had to push his head back down, muttering about having trouble finding the port. Koller had a hard time finding it too, but Jensen hadn’t had this reaction then. Different techniques and equipment, he supposed, fighting down a flush of embarrassment at the urge to rub against Pritchard’s hand like a cat. 

Finally Pritchard’s exploratory fingers narrowed in on the port, and he felt a familiar pinch as it opened. Jensen braced himself. While he knew the plug was barely a centimeter deep, it felt like having a huge icy spike shoved into his brain. 

“Brace yourself,” Pritchard warned, before plugging it in, causing Jensen to literally see stars for a moment to go with the icy intrusion. 

Soon the stars faded, and he was left with the usual unpleasantness and a distinct cold sensation at the base of his skull.

“You know, if you let me sedate you, your blood pressure probably wouldn’t be so high,” Pritchard pointed out. “That sent it right up...not in the danger zone yet, but…”

Jensen had the embarrassing feeling that it wasn’t actually the plug that messed with his blood pressure, and really hoped Pritchard wouldn’t notice. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice only a little strained.

Pritchard grunted noncommittally in response, absorbed in the data again. Jensen closed his eyes, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. 

“Probably twenty more minutes,” Pritchard said, in what sounded like an attempt to be reassuring. At least his bedside manner had improved over the last couple years. 

Eventually, as Jensen predicted, he started to sweat. It felt like he’d been running a marathon, only without the need of his lungs. At one point, Pritchared glanced up from his results long enough to notice. He muttered a warning about needing to touch Jensen’s forehead, before he leaned forward, wiping the sweat with his thumb, keeping it from dripping into the data port. He then wiped his thumb on his pants and continued to read the data, apparently oblivious to the fact that maybe having someone else’s sweat on him was a little gross. Though the sensation of where his fingers brushed Jensen’s hairline lingered.

Jensen wondered at his reaction. He’d undergone these scans dozens of times. They always included people touching his hair, but he’d never had felt like this. Maybe it was Pritchard’s equipment? It made him reflect on the last time someone had touched his hair and it actually made him feel _good._ Probably not since Megan, not since his augmentations. After his augs, he had a hard time with anyone touching him. For a while even brushing up against someone made him want to recoil into a ball, and apologize to _them _for it. It never quite made sense to him. Even when he finally confided in his Sarif appointed therapist about it, their platitudes weren’t very helpful either.__

__They told him the normalcy of sensation would come with time as his body adjusted. Like wearing colored sunglasses, after a while his body would adjust to the tinted input. And indeed it had. Fluffing a pillow or shooting a gun felt about the same as it always had. But that never really stopped his extremely negative reaction to touching people, or being touched._ _

__“Are you doing okay? Looks like your stress levels are a bit elevated...Everything normal?” Pritchard asked. Jensen avoided eye contact. He should keep better track of his thoughts while a computer scanned every inch of his body._ _

__“Yeah, fine.”_ _

__“Okay, only about ten more minutes. Just...think happy thoughts. Kittens… I don’t know, beating up Illuminati, whatever you’re into,” Pritchard muttered. Jensen smirked despite himself at the weak joke._ _

__Maybe this was a good sign. Many people took years to adjust to his augmentations. His recovery was absurdly fast, but it would make sense if a few minor lingering issues took longer to catch up._ _

__...Not that his hair was augmented. But the theory remained._ _

__It was also really weird to think that _Pritchard_ playing doctor, of all things, would help him past that hurdle. _ _

__Jensen’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted as his vision suddenly went black. His head shot up with alarm, jostling the cords. “My eyes just cut out,” he said. He was apprehensive, as anyone who’s vision just blacked out had any right to be, but this time there was no terror accompanying the sudden outage like there had been before._ _

__“I see that. Yes...hm. Oh, excellent! I think that’s one mystery solved. Your vision should come back online in three...two…”_ _

__A moment later, as Pritchard predicted, his sight flickered back to life. “What is it?” Jensen asked, blinking and looking around the room._ _

__Pritchard scrolled through the logs, muttering for a few moments, verifying his hunch before he launched into an extremely detailed and technical explanation. That was, until Jensen stopped him, demanding an explanation in English. Pritchard sighed._ _

__“Sarif Industries used a bit of an unusual order of operations when it comes to prioritizing power and signal strength. Especially in your case since you have so many high priority components. When your new augments got connected, I think your friend routed them incorrectly, if you had all Tai Yong components, for example, you’d be fine. Easy mistake to make. But now that your Infolink was taken offline, it broke the connection chain, so power draws could black out your vision, the way it’s been happening.”_ _

__Jensen nodded. “So, you can fix it?”_ _

__“Yes. But that one will need sedatives…” Pritchard chewed his lip again, apprehensively, eyes darting from his screen to Jensen. “And a, ah, a tool I don’t have.”_ _

__Jensen groaned. “Let me guess. A neuroplasticity calibrator?”_ _

__“Yes, how did you know?”_ _

__“Call it a hunch…”_ _

__“I don’t suppose you have one lying around then?”_ _

__“No, I can check Koller’s lab, but I doubt it’s still there.”_ _

__“Great, maybe when we’re done here you can go do that, and I can review this data and see if I can’t find what’s going on with your Infolink. Maybe it’s also related to the hack job that guy did connecting those new augs…” Pritchard muttered, adding under his breath, “and take a nap…”_ _

__A few minutes later, the scan was finally complete. Jensen felt immediate relief, even before Pritchard had a chance to unplug him. He shook out his arms and legs, but refrained from shaking his head until he was unplugged._ _

__“I’ll most likely want to run a calibration later, but I’d like to go over the results first,” Pritchard said, absentmindedly winding a cable around his hand while continuing to scan the results._ _

__Jensen nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face and hair, trying to case off the last of the sensations. Pritchard barely acknowledged him when he announced his intention to head to Koller’s immediately._ _

__With that unpleasantness taken care of, Jensen tossed on his coat and headed out. It felt nice to move, and release some of the residual pent of tension from the scan. He walked at a brisk pace, the morning air and how great it felt to stretch his legs reminded him of his life before. He used to go running in the mornings. He even dragged Megan along a few times. Jogging was pretty pointless anymore though. Exercise was still important, but running was pretty ineffective now that his legs and most of his cardiovascular system were completely artificial. But doing pushups and sit-ups in his apartment just wasn’t the same._ _

__He ran a hand over the back of his head absentmindedly, and reminded himself of the sensation of Pritchard running his fingers through his hair. The memory sent a shiver down his spine, along with a feeling of guilt. The man was just trying to find the port, and was actually being a professional about it for once. It felt wrong to have derived so much bizarre pleasure from it. Like he was violating Pritchard for experiencing it at all. Jensen tried to push the whole thing out of his mind. The diagnostics always produced weird sensations, that one wasn’t even the weirdest, one time he even felt as if he had two arms on his left side. Things like that happened, Pritchard would understand._ _

__It did, however, once again highlight in Jensen’s mind the fact that the last time he’d had _any_ sort of intimate contact with someone was with Megan. Now that was a sickening thought. He wondered once again how directly responsible she was for his current physical state. She was always one who’d rather beg for forgiveness than ask permission. But what kind of idiot was he to not recognize the depths she was willing to sink? How much did she know when they first started dating? Was it a ploy to get easy access to his DNA all along? If it was, there had to have been less cruel ways of doing it._ _

__But she was brilliant, charming, and beautiful, and he was apparently a giant sucker._ _

__It was a well-trod and useless train of thought. Jensen worked to shake it from his mind. There was no path other than forwards. Maybe he’d find answers there. Or maybe he could at least stop them from hurting anyone else. But for now he just needed to get himself fixed up. With any luck, Pritchard’s tests would reveal what was wrong, and he’d be back in the game soon. Having all this time off was letting his mind wander far too much._ _

__There was no use dwelling on the past, or even dwelling on what he did or didn’t have now. The sooner this was resolved, the better._ _

__“Hey hanzer, papers,” a cop suddenly jolted Jensen out of his thoughts. He reached into his coat pocket, for the documents, his jaw clenching._ _

__“Of course, officer,” Jensen said through gritted teeth, handing the documents over._ _

__“I don’t like your tone. You’re not going to be a problem, are you?” the officer snapped._ _

__“Wouldn’t dream of it…”_ _

__The cop finished his check and handed the papers back. “Get lost.”_ _

__Jensen continued on his way, his jaw starting to ache. He just needed to get put back together and focus on the mission. It was useless to spend any time contemplating his personal life. There were much larger problems to worry about._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The tone may be serious but my dumbass sense of humor cannot be contained


	4. Chapter 4

Pritchard set a few diagnostic tests running on the data he’d downloaded from Jensen’s augs while he went about scanning specific points manually. There was a lot of information. These types of tests could take a few hours on a person with one augmentation. Jensen was another case entirely. There was a good chance the tests could run all day. Still, there were definitely areas that were more likely to be the origin of the error than others. While feedback from a leg augment, for example, could potentially cause it, it was unlikely.

He scowled at the schematics of the new unexpected augments. They had some incredible capabilities. But Jensen having them installed without his knowledge was... Well it was fucked up. 

Sure, Sarif went too far with Jensen’s augments, the true extent of which Pritchard didn’t even know about until after Jensen’s supposed death. But Sarif at least was trying to save his life and just...stuffed some extras in along the way. He wasn’t trying to use Jensen as some sort of guinea pig for experimental tech without even telling him. At least, not that Pritchard knew of. Sarif tended to always think he was right, but generally didn’t strike Pritchard as sinister. Or at least not intentionally sinister. While it didn’t make what he did okay, it was at least a little less horrifying than this.

It was odd, working on Jensen. Pritchard couldn't blame him for wanting to stay awake for what was generally a very unpleasant procedure, but it still made things...perhaps not difficult, but strange. Or perhaps it made them easier in a way. So many things had been done to Jensen without his consent, Pritchard half feared adding to the pile. Of course, Jensen asked for his help, but it didn’t stop Pritchard from feeling the need to work with more caution than he would usually have with any “patients.”

It felt strange worrying about it so much. Then again, Pritchard was an asshole, not a monster. Fucking with Jensen was one thing. Whatever horror show was taking over the man’s life, the man’s _body,_ was quite another.

Nothing immediate jumped out at the results. Though, as he suspected, Jensen’s Sentinel, and other health systems did need flushing. Which was absurd, the system was supposed to be on a five year maintenance cycle. For most people, five years was a cautious estimate. Pritchard found some papers indicating the real need for anyone short of hazardous waste disposal workers was closer to eight or more.

Alcohol, while a major contributor to the wear and tear, wasn’t the only thing leaving his health system in poor shape. There were, of course, the usual environmental pollutants, cigarette smoke, and exhaust. But there were also signs of a myriad of other toxins Pritchard could only venture a guess at how Jensen got himself exposed to.

There was also a surprisingly large quantity of ultra fine silica dust particles. As far as Pritchard could tell, it wasn’t only inhaled, but also forced in through his typhoon ports; which was strange, since the port’s internal shutters usually kept dust and liquids out. The system still seemed to be in process cleaning and discharging the particles. The particles were in so many systems, not just his respiratory and Typhoon systems, Pritchard not only wondered what the hell happened, but considered whether they could have impacted the Infolink problem. The link was buried securely in the back of his skull, but still.

There would be something amusing about telling Jensen his woes were all due to sand in his brain, but while it was worth looking into, it seemed unlikely.

Pritchard yawned, reaching for his coffee, only to find his cup woefully empty. He scowled down at the dribbles remaining. It was the last pour out of the pot too. It seemed Jensen’s system wasn’t the only one that need a bit of a reset, if Pritchard was barely awake even after so much caffeine. The bastard didn’t buy decaf, did he? That would be some sort of cruel joke.

Having run out of inspiration on where to look manually, Pritchard lay down on the couch. The other tests all had a minimum of forty minutes to go until they started spitting out any results. Might as well try to catch up on some sleep in the meantime.

“You weren’t kidding about being tired.”

Pritchard jerked awake, nearly startling himself off the couch when Jensen spoke, looming over him. He felt like he’d just closed his eyes, and now Jensen had materialized.

“You know if you’d stayed at a hotel you would have been able to sleep in,” Jensen pointed out.

Pritchard sighed. “I wasn’t kidding about how bad the aug friendly hotels are. If you know of one that’s not terrible, or if you know of a naturals only one _without_ a security scan, I’ll be happy to get out of your hair,” Pritchard said suppressing a yawn as he sat up, furrowing his brow a little in confusion as he saw a faint flush register on Jensen’s skin as the man glanced away.

“Sorry, not really up to date on the hotels around,” he seemed to hesitate for a moment, lingering as if he wasn’t sure of his next move. “Feel free to use the couch though, it’s fine…”

“Thanks.”

“You find anything yet?”

Pritchard shook his head. “Mostly no. Other than that you’re full of sand…”

To Pritchard’s surprised, Jensen nodded. “Yeah, that tracks. Do you think it could be causing the issues?”

“It’s possible, and worth exploring, but I feel it is unlikely. Care to explain _why_ you’re full of sand?”

“Got caught in a sandstorm during an operation,” Jensen explained simply.

“Right. Of course. Well, it seems like your Typhoon external seals weren’t strong enough to deal with a full body sandblasting, guess they never tested for that contingency. And it was simply a lot for your respiratory system to handle. Next time you risk being in a sandstorm, wear a mask. And, I don’t know, stuff cotton balls in your Typhoon ports or something,” 

Jensen arched a brow. “I’ll keep that in mind…”

Pritchard snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering why Jensen left in the first place. “Oh! Did you find the neuroplasticity calibrator?”

Jensen shook his head, folding his arms. “No luck. Not surprised though.”

“Damn, I wouldn’t be surprised if your Infolink problem was also related to that guy’s hack job on your circuitry with that thing. 

Jensen shrugged. “Koller usually does good work. He did say he specializes in Chinese tech though.”

Pritchard huffed. “I’ll have to take your word on that.” He reached for his computer, it looked like two more test completed while he slept. They, unsurprisingly, revealed a whole lot of nothing conclusive. He sighed, scrolling back up through the results. He really needed to bring up the alcohol problem...but just really did not want to.

“I should mention it looks as if your health system does need to be backflushed. It shouldn’t be due for another couple years but…” Pritchard eyed Jensen, who might as well have been as expressive as a wall of stone behind those dark lenses. Pritchard almost felt like Jensen was daring him to say something. Something Pritchard couldn’t muster up the willpower to do, at least not yet. “Again, I doubt it has anything to do with your Infolink, but I thought I should mention it.”

“Noted. So, what do we do about the sand?”

“Until the rest of the diagnostic analysis is complete? Nothing. Can’t risk aggravating an unknown problem. And looks like we have about-” Pritchard pulled up the screen. “Seven or eight hours, depending on how it goes…”

“The previous test didn’t take this long.”

“Your previous tests were run in labs on specialized equipment, not in your apartment on my laptop.”

Jensen nodded, rocking back on his heels, thinking for a moment. “Have you eaten?”

Pritchard shook his head. “Other than that energy bar and a whole pot of coffee? No.”

Jensen’s eyebrows furrowed. “You drank that whole pot and still managed to fall asleep?”

Pritchard just grunted his acknowledgement.

“You really need to lay off the caffeine…” 

“A little bit of the pot calling the kettle black there, Jensen?” Pritchard muttered before he could stop himself. Jensen just scowled at him.

“Do you want to get lunch, or are you just going to be a prick?”

“What? Oh, yes. Sorry. Uh, sure,” Pritchard stammered out, caught off guard by the unexpected, albeit backhanded, offer. It shouldn’t have been strange. Coworkers went out to lunch all the time, didn’t they? But he realized suddenly they hadn’t once had lunch while working for Sarif. They’d barely even been in the break room at the same time. Then again, Pritchard ate lunch in his office almost every day. People didn’t tend to bother asking him to come along on lunch outings. Not that he was likely to have gone with if they had.

“Got any preferences?” 

“Not really, I suppose you probably know the good places to eat better than I do,” Pritchard said, looking around for his jacket. He felt almost weirdly nervous at Jensen asking him to lunch. He silently reprimanded himself for it; it’s not like they were going on a date. It was just...weird. To go out and public and eat food with someone. His friend was right, he really, _really_ needed to get out more.

It was also odd Jensen was being so nice. Maybe he’d come to the rational decision that it was a bad idea to provoke the guy who’d be very likely poking around in his brain soon.

“Most of the _good_ places don’t serve augs… But there’s a couple decent cafes up in the tourist area that will serve augs lunch at least,” Jensen said, sounding not so much bitter as matter of fact, which in itself was a little depressing.

“How generous of them. But I guess that works. I might as well see some of the city while I’m here.”

Jensen actually cracked a smile, making Pritchard immediately suspicious. “Good, you could use a little culture.”

“Haw haw. I’m sorry I’m not a world traveler like you. Let's go, now that you’ve mentioned food I’m starving,” Pritchard grumbled, striding for the door and deliberately shoulder checking Jensen on his way out, a move he immediately regretted; Jensen’s shoulder was extremely hard, and hurt. Pritchard refused to rub his own now sore arm out of pride. Unfortunately, Jensen seemed to notice, and snickered.

Dick.

They hadn’t made it far into the streets before a police officer marched up to them, demanding papers. Or rather, demanded papers from Jensen, then turned to Pritchard as an afterthought, but was still a huge dick about it. Even if Pritchard wasn’t visibly augmented, hanging out with someone who was made him suspect. He wondered if some of the police officers had scanners installed in their helmets, considering how paranoid this city seemed.

Much to Pritchard’s surprise, and slight dismay, when they got to the subway, Jensen casually strolled onto the “naturals” car. Pritchard hurried after him, eyes darting about nervously as it seemed half the passengers on the train stared at them, or at least sent dubious glances their way.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Pritchard whispered before the subway car doors slid shut. Jensen just shrugged.

Pritchard grabbed onto a rail as the subway jerked forward, while Jensen just stood unsettlingly steady, no doubt thanks to the stabilizers in his legs. Was he specifically trying to freak out the other passengers? Despite his cool exterior, Pritchard’s aug noticed the immediate jump in Jensen’s blood pressure after they were stopped, and the accompanying tightness in his jaw. He was probably acting out of protest…or spite. Pritchard bit his cheek to keep from smiling, despite his apprehension. He knew there was a reason he respected Jensen, even if it wasn’t perhaps the smartest thing to do.

Unsurprisingly, Jensen was stopped again on their way out of the car, and received a harshly worded warning from the police officer. Yet another cop didn’t stop them, but yelled at them to watch themselves as they walked to the cafe.

The cafe was bustling when they arrived. The weather had cleared up enough to allow for outdoor seating, which is where they ended up, despite the lingering chill in the air. But at least the servers sat them without glaring, which seemed like a step up from the rest of their outing so far. 

“How can you stand living here?” Pritchard finally asked after their server walked away.

Jensen shrugged, opening his menu. “My job’s here right now, so I’m here.”

“Right, right. You know, you could always go freelance like me. Usually it’s not great money, but with your skills? You could probably make a killing,” Pritchard said, glancing half heartedly through his menu, too distracted.

“Interpol helps me keep my permits in order. You know the regs on augments like mine,” Jensen said. Pritchard scowled. He did have something of a point. The weaponized augmentation ban made it hard for people like Jensen to exist outside of the military or police. Jensen could always get the augs removed, but there were so many that were so heavily integrated into his system, it would be difficult to say the least. Perhaps even crippling. Not to mention they were a part of him, he shouldn’t have to give them up.

“You know, people like me could help you keep your permits. Hell, I could have used you on quite a few jobs...”

“I seem to remember you did use me on a job.”

“Yes, a singular job. I’ve had to hire a handful of meat heads for others who were much less…” Nice to work with? Skilled? Competent? Likeable? Pritchard ran through too many, too flattering descriptors in his head, all of which were completely true, but not that he was willing to admit to Jensen’s face. “Discreet.”

Jensen’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re calling what happened discreet?”

“Yes! I mean, no- that. That was extenuating circumstances. Yes, it could have gone better, but I don’t think it would have happened at all with someone else.”

“I thought you were pissed about that.”

“I mean, I am. I was…” Pritchard sighed. “What happened, happened. Better than not getting the job done. My point is, we make a good team.” 

Jensen folded his menu leaning back in his chair, looking smug. “Are you suggesting I quit Interpol and come work for you?”

“What? No! I mean...i-it would be an option,” Pritchard stammered, realizing yeah, that was exactly what he was suggesting, albeit accidentally. “If you’re just doing it for the permits. I mean…”

Jensen shook his head. “That’s not my only reason. You should know that.”

Pritchard sighed. “I suppose. I still think with your little mission...there’s other ways of going about getting what you need.”

“Right now, this is where I need to be.”

“Fine, fine,” Pritchard said, finally turning his attention to his menu, just in time for the server to come back up. Pritchard hurriedly scanned the menu, then gave up and ordered the special. He couldn’t remember what the special _was,_ but he’d seen there was one on their way in. He supposed it would be a surprise…

As the conversation died down, Pritchard couldn’t help but listen in on the neighboring table. A pair of certified assholes were complaining loudly about their hopes that the politicians would ‘get their heads out of their asses and finally ship off all the dangerous people from their city.’ 

Pritchard sighed heavily, every time the Human Restoration Act came on the news he had to turn it off, with the exception of when he found out the damn thing was dead in the water. But it didn’t take long for its skeleton to rise from the grave in the public’s consciousness in the form of new, equally shitty proposals. He didn’t like ruminating on an existential threat to his existence. Sure, a nice city where augs could live in peace sounded nice, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that’s now how it would end up, even if seemingly well meaning people did believe it was possible. And now he got to be reminded that normal citizens apparently wanted it too, and didn’t give a shit about how bad it would likely be. This was why he never went outside.

“I really can’t believe people sometimes,” he muttered, he could tell Jensen was also listening in on the loud pair. They both knew what he was talking about. Hell, the pair probably wanted to be overheard, just to spite the aug.

“You know, Prtichard, don’t take this the wrong way. But for how apolitical you are, I’m surprised you care so much about it,” Jensen said. Pritchard raised a brow.

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s wrong!” Pritchard snapped, “Not to mention I don’t particularly want to be shipped off to some aug ghetto.”

“You’d really be that unwilling to give up your augments?” Jensen asked.

“Yes. It’s not what you think, though. I have a medically necessary augment that isn’t in the exception lists I’ve seen proposed. It’s too easy to alter, I guess.” And it was, it took about fifteen minutes for Pritchard to get his first hacking augment thanks to the thing. “And they claim there are other treatments, which there usually are, but not in my case.”

Jensen’s eyebrows rose as he leaned back in his chair. Pritchard felt like he was giving him a once over, but the damn lenses made it impossible to tell.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

Silence settled over them for a moment as Pritchard sipped his water, frowning. 

Jensen hadn’t asked, but it only felt fair to share. He spent all morning digging through the minute details of Jensen’s augmentations and biometric data. Which meant, by default, Pritchard was privy to some very private details about Jensen’s life. It only felt right to explain.

“My first implant was one of the very first available on the market. I had a rare and severe form of epilepsy. Or I guess I still do. And I have an allergy to the best medication for controlling the kind of seizures I had. Some others sort of worked but...as I got older they kept getting worse. I started waking up in the hospital pretty regularly. Had two bad ones in a row one summer, my parents said I was never quite the same after it,” Pritchard laughed bitterly.

He could remember their looks, the way they walked on eggshells around him, muttering how different he was when they thought he couldn’t hear. Different _how?_ Pritchard felt the same, just alone and angry and scared, wondering what part of himself he’d apparently lost. 

“I was just waiting for when I’d finally have the seizure that just shorted out my brain for good, you know? Or at least did some real damage. Or just made me fall into traffic or something. 

“My doctors were talking about doing some pretty invasive brain surgery in a bid to stop them. The kind that, well. Better than a lobotomy but, chances were I wouldn’t be the same after. Luckily, I managed to get in on the trials for the implant and...it worked. If it was taken out, they’d come back. I just. I can’t. I can’t live with the idea of letting this condition just...slowly destroy my brain. I-I’d rather...” he let the sentence hang for a moment, his voice growing even more somber. 

“I’d rather die. If I lost my mental abilities. I’d. I’d be useless. Worse than useless I’d be a burden. Hell, I’d end up dead anyway, it’s not like anyone would be willing to help take care of a brain damaged prick like me.”

Pritchard grabbed his water, taking a drink and avoiding eye contact, trying to keep his hand from shaking. He wasn’t sure what came over him. He said _way_ more than he’d intended to. He couldn’t even bare to look at Jensen for a reaction. Why had he said all that?

He saved himself from the silence by waving down a server and ordering himself coffee. When he finally ventured a glance back at Jensen he was surprised to see his eyes. He hadn’t heard the lenses retract. Jensen’s eyes were always a little eerie, but somehow beautiful. The gold irises hypnotizing in a way Pritchard didn’t usually find in organic eyes. He wondered what color they were before. Despite working together, Pritchard hadn’t bothered to take note. Making eye contact in general usually wasn’t one of his priorities. But he felt almost trapped by it now. Jensen’s expression was sympathetic, caring, maybe something else Pritchard couldn’t quite read. So much for his useless CASIE...

The waitress reappeared with his coffee just in time to save Pritchard from himself. He felt like he’d said too much. Jensen hadn’t asked. And _why wasn’t he saying anything-_

“I can understand the feeling,” Jensen said softly, finally. “There wouldn’t be much of me left without my augs either.”

“I suppose not,” Pritchard murmured, shaking his head. “The company that made my implant went out of business too, well before the Incident even. Apparently, there’s no money to be made in treating extremely rare conditions. Their patents all got sold off to corps who are just sitting on them. If my chip ever has an issue, I’m about the only expert I know on the thing. And getting replacement components would be a nightmare. So, I suppose we’re in not too dissimilar of situations there either.” Pritchard said, apparently incapable of shutting up.

“Yeah, our augs have a lot in common. Yours let you punch through firewalls. Mine let me punch through actual walls,” Jensen said with a smirk. 

Pritchard stopped have way through taking a sip of his coffee to stare at him, equal parts furious at the terrible joke and relieved to lighten the mood. “Why am I helping you again?”

Jensen snickered. 

With Pritchard successfully freed from his horrible talking death spiral, the rest of the lunch passed smoothly. The special turned out to be a pasta dish that was certainly nothing special in Pritchard’s opinion. But he’d had worse.

They were able to reminisce about the old days, the good times at least. Part of it almost felt like catching up on two year old office gossip. Talking about people they’d heard about, who ended up where, how they were. Though they staunchly avoided talking about their own lives. Not that either could reasonably talk publicly about their careers. And neither were particularly interested in digging into their personal lives. 

On the walk back to Jensen’s apartment, the discussion turned to business, trying to formulate a plan for fixing him, from finding a calibrator to how exactly they were supposed to flush the silica from his system. Unfortunately, Pritchard feared getting the calibrator could possibly prove to be an ordeal. People marketing those kinds of things were either dangerous or not looking for cash. Frequently both. 

They made good time going back, traversing the city miraculously unmolested by police. When they arrived, Pritchard immediately checked the test. Two more registered complete with no abnormalities, one was still running, and another concluded with an error. Not a diagnostic assessment, unfortunately, just an error that kept the test from completing. 

“Damnit, well...There’s a good chance whatever messed up the test is messing up you. I can run another localized scan on it so you don’t have to deal with the whole...thing. Should be quicker,” Pritchard said, probably trying to assuring himself more than Jensen as he glared at the screen, arms folded. Jensen, for his part, looked more resigned than anything else. 

“So, if it works and we run it again we’ll have an answer some time tonight?” Jensen asked, Pritchard grimaced.

“Not exactly. It’s...a bad idea to run multiple diagnostics in one day. And the last test is still running.”

Jensen signed, rubbing his forehead. “Right.” Jensen’s arm dropped to his side, he looked tired suddenly. “I guess I’ll go follow up with my contacts if anyone knows where to dig up a calibrator.”

“Good idea. I’ll see if I can’t make any sense of this log. And put out a few inquiries…”

With that, Jensen left and Prithchard settled into work, tossing occasional annoyed glances at the error message. He shouldn’t have been surprised, if he’d had so much trouble getting answers already, it was stupid to think Pritchard would just bring out his knowledge of Sarif tech and nail it first try.

Pritchard lost track of time reviewing the logs, bothering contacts who might have the right equipment, and even catching up on some actual work. It wasn’t until his stomach started growling that he noticed the time. Eight PM. He stood stiffly, looking around the now dark apartment. He wondered where Jensen was, a little concerned he hadn’t returned yet, but not too worried. The man was more than capable of taking care of himself.

He wandered to the fridge; he probably shouldn’t eat Jensen’s food but he _was_ doing the man a favor. Unfortunately, once the light of the refrigerator stopped blinding him, he discovered it contained beer, some condiments, and a single takeout container. He was torn between feeling surprised that Jensen didn’t stock some absurdly healthy food and not surprised at all. Then again, the quantity of cereal boxes around should have hinted that the fridge would be a disappointment. Having as many augs as Jensen did required some strange dietary requirements, and many simple carbohydrates. But _still._

It seemed he would have to go buy food himself. Pritchard shrugged on his jacket and headed out, a little reluctant as he locked the door behind himself. He should upgrade the lock to protect his own equipment, if nothing else. But hopefully he wouldn’t be robbed blind after running to the store for ten minutes.

On his way back from with his load of groceries, and most importantly, coffee, he came across a heavy-set woman at the top of the stairs.

“You,” she said, giving Pritchard a once over. She was older, dressed in barely a step above rags, flicking the ash off her cigarette with an extremely bare bones augmented arm. She gestured to Pritchard with the cigarette. “Who are you. You boyfriend?” she asked with a heavy accent, jerking her head in the direction of Jensen’s door. Ah, a nosy neighbor, naturally. 

“No, no, just a houseguest,” Pritchard replied, trying not to sound too flustered at the notion. 

The woman hummed taking a drag of her cigarette, giving Pritchard another excessively thorough once over. “Hmm, a liar. I seen way you look at him this afternoon. I have good eye for this,” the woman said, tapping a metal pinky against her temple.

“Well your eye is deceiving you then,” Pritchard huffed. He didn’t look at Jensen in any particular way. Certainly not the way this woman was talking about.

She shrugged dismissively. “Well, probably for best then. Would not be right. Mr. Jensen is very handsome, you…” she gestured to him with her cigarette, hemming for a few moments. “You are. How do you say. Below average.”

“Wha- _excuse_ me? Are you calling me ugly?”

“No, that is not word. Unattractive. Yes. And like. How do you say,” she snapped her fingers for a moment, searching for the word. “Like pencil.”

Pritchard ran a hand down his face. He couldn’t believe he was being dragged by one of Jensen’s elderly neighbors.

“Have _you_ looked in a mirror lately?” Pritchard snapped. The woman laughed.

“Pritchard, are you picking on my neighbors?” Jensen’s voice said from somewhere down the stairs. Pritchard couldn’t help the bright red flush that came across his face, he only hoped Jensen hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation. Pritchard sagged, defeated by a random old woman. 

“I was not- she- it doesn’t matter,” Pritchard grumbled, ‘she started it,’ while true, seemed like his least effective defense at the moment. 

The woman smiled at Jensen as he reached the top of the stairs. “Good evening, Mr. Jensen,” she said warmly, as if she was the most wholesome, sweet woman in the world, incapable of making fun of strangers. “It is nice night, yes?”

“Yeah. Francis wasn’t giving you too much trouble, was he?” Jensen asked, though Pritchard detected the faint hint of a smirk. He suspected, hoped, Jensen knew about this woman’s...ways.

“Oh, no, we were having friendly chat. Was about to ask him if he would like to meet my daughter. She likes boys who are...pencil.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll pass,” Pritchard managed to spit out, unable to deal with the conversational whiplash. Jensen laughed, thumping a hand down on Pritchard’s shoulder with a smirk, jostling him off balance.

“What’s the matter Pritchard? Afraid you’ll break her heart?” Jensen asked. Pritchard rolled his eyes.

“Right. I need to get back to work,” Pritchard said, sliding out from under Jensen’s hand and fleeing for the door. He heard Jensen say goodbye to the woman before following behind.

“Have fun, boys!” she called after them with a chuckle. 

Pritchard huffed when they finally got inside, thumping his groceries down on the counter, accidentally knocking over an empty liquor bottle as he did. He scowled at it, catching it before it rolled off the counter. As he rummaged through his groceries, Jensen strolled over to the laptop.

“Looks like the final test completed. Says results normal.”

Pritchard signed, thoroughly unsurprised. “I guess we’ll have to rerun the one diagnostic tomorrow and hopefully a deep scan will…” he started, trailing off. Though something had been bothering him. While Jensen was gone and he tried to brainstorm ideas about what could be happening as he read through the logs. A few things kept showing up as indicators that, while not express errors, were not good. It was unlikely his heavy drinking was the cause of the error directly, but the more data Pritchard sifted through, the more it seemed like the excessive strain he’d put on his body generally _could_ be causing it. Or, rather, it was more likely than he initially believed.

Pritchard needed to stop putting the topic off. “We need to talk about your health systems…” Pritchard started, hesitantly.

Luckily for the both of them, a messenger window forced its way to the forefront of the laptop. That wasn’t right, he had all his messenger programs set on do not disturb. Pritchard hurried forward to see what it was. The messages came from one of his Detroit hacker friends. He quickly snatched up his laptop, sitting on the couch to reply as the stream of panicked messages poured in.

Artemis420:   
_HEY!  
HEY!  
GET OUT MAN  
WHERE ARE YOU  
HEY  
SHIT  
THIS IS BAD  
WHERE ARE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111_

Nucl3arsnake:  
 _What’s wrong?_

Artemis420:   
_Thank FUCK I thought for sure you were getting your ass handed to you, where are you?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
 _Prague_

Artemis420:   
_Damn dude! You really got the hell out of dodge  
How’d you know they were coming? _

Pritchard frowned, not liking where this was going. He noticed Jensen casually moving to where he could read over Pritchard’s shoulder, nosey bastard. 

Nucl3arsnake:  
 _I’m here on business, what’s going on?_

Artemis420:   
_Just saw like five huge dudes with guns and baseball bats roll up in your place._

Pritchard blinked at the message in surprise before he frantically pulled up his security camera feed. If someone was breaching his hideout his alarms should have gone off. And while the alarms remained silent, the cameras came online just in time to show several men bash down the door and pour into his hideout. At first, they looked around, obviously searching for Pritchard, and when they failed to find him proceeded to put their guns and bats to good use destroying everything they could find. 

Pritchard let out a strangled helpless “no!” as he watched his server racks smashed to bits with a bat then shot up for good measure. They seemed to take particular pleasure in shattering all of his monitors, and his collection of vintage electronics...

Pritchard covered his face with his hands, still staring at the destruction between his fingers, letting out a despairing groan. Of course he was prepared to abandon the hideout if needed, and had a bolt bag ready at all times, but it didn’t make it any easier to lose all his stuff…

He heard Jensen suck in a breath behind him. “That’s rough,” Jensen said, sounding at least mostly sincere. Pritchard shook his head, pulling the chat box back open.

Nucl3arsnake:  
 _If you’re nearby you should probably get out fast. Another hacker must have sent them._

Artemis420:  
 _Way ahead of you. Talk to you later. Good luck dude._

“I’m sorry but, who’d you piss off?” Jensen asked as Pritchard closed everything down. He didn’t need to watch the rest of the destruction of his hideout.

Pritchard shook his head. “Not sure. I’ll have to start formulating my list of suspects. It won’t be a short one.”

“Could they track you here?”

“Unlikely,” Pritchard said, albeit a little nervously. “I booked under fake names and no one has any reason to know I’m coming, unless I was so compromised they heard your transmission. But whoever did this hacked my alarms but not my security cameras, so they’re good, but obviously not thorough…” Pritchard muttered, half to himself. That might narrow the suspects a little.

“Well, I guess coming here was pretty lucky timing,” Jensen said.

Pritchard signed, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “Lucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of the hacker name Artemis420 because i'm a big dumb idiot


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if anyone got notification spammed or anything. Yesterday when i tried to post the chapter it didn't update properly ]:
> 
> Also a note, I updated the archive warning for violence but that does not apply to this chapter. It barely applies later, but I figure it would be better to update it sooner rather than later for that one

Perhaps unsurprisingly, investigation into Jensen’s glitch came to an abrupt halt after Pritchard discovered the break in. He spent the rest of the evening trying to make sure he’d covered his tracks, and investigating who could have sent the men. He was still at it when Jensen went to bed, and Jensen could hear typing drifting to his room during the early hours of the morning.

By the time Jensen woke up, Pritchard was finally asleep. His laptop and three other devices sat on the coffee table, though only the laptop was powered on, displaying a forgotten and ignored chat with Artemis420 about sending someone to check out the space displayed on the screen. 

Jensen had to wonder if incredibly stupid hacker handles were a requirement of some kind, or did they honestly think they were cool? Did people with normal handles just get kicked out of hacking communities? He had a lot of questions. Pritchard was an idiot in many respects, but Jensen had a hard time believing the man truly thought Nucl3arsnake was actually a cool name, at least anymore. Maybe when he was fifteen. Maybe that was the key, they just never changed them.

Or maybe it was a status thing, the more embarrassing the name was to say out loud the more legitimate it was. Then again, he did get traction with that screenplay. Maybe Jensen was the one horribly out of date on what was cool…

He really doubted it though.

Jensen decided to let him sleep this time. While annoying and provoking Pritchard was still great fun, he’d actually enjoyed talking and actually getting to know him the day before outside of business. He was an exceptionally odd person, yes, but so was Jensen, at least anymore. A different kind of odd, definitely, and perhaps one that was less of his own making. Although growing up with such a serious medical condition was probably difficult. He could only imagine what that would do to a person.

Jensen was starting to question his view of Pritchard. He used to always think the man was just arrogant, which he absolutely was, about his technical skills at least. But he also seemed to just be a bit of a disaster. He was gaining the distinct impression the man just couldn’t help himself, and spending all of his time with hackers in their bizarre little world probably didn’t help. Though Pritchard probably got along better with them than normal people, so who could blame him? He had at least one friend who cared enough to warn him about the break in... even if the cause of the break in was probably another hacker trying to get him killed or at least beaten.

Maybe Pritchard had it right. Jensen tried to maintain some level of normalcy in the madness his life had become, which resulted in him being alone. Pritchard swallowed the fact that he was a weird outcast and immersed himself in the culture of other outcasts. Maybe if Jensen ever did stop the Illuminati, he’d be able to move on, find some other life for himself. Though who could say if Pritchard was any happier for his choices; right now, he probably wasn’t. It didn’t matter though, for now Jensen didn’t have the option.

He worried that he’d dragged Pritchard into his...problems. The timing of both Koller’s disappearance and Pritchard’s hideout getting knocked over were concerning. However, it seemed odd that if Jensen was the cause, they would go to Pritchard’s place in Detroit, and not follow him to Prague. After all, they had discussed it in the transmission, if that had been compromised. By Pritchard’s own admission, he had plenty of rivals and enemies. But for now, whoever was responsible didn’t seem to know Pritchard’s actual location, which was good. 

He decided to take a shower, if Pritchard wasn’t awake by the time he was done, he could go out and possibly try and hunt down more leads on the calibrator. He’d love to look for more leads on Koller, but a week beating that dead horse had gone nowhere, and Alex had promised to get back to him on her lead.

The water felt amazing rolling down his hair and back. He’d been tense lately. He wasn’t exactly a relaxed person in general, but the past week had left his back in a series of knots. Between the diagnostics, suspension, and general frustration… He closed his eyes, letting the heat soak into his muscles, helping at least some of the tension slowly melt away. 

Though the shower wasn’t helping _all_ of him relax. It was, in fact, having the opposite effect on part of him. Ever since the diagnostic it had been stewing away quietly under his skin. Jensen was in firm denial that he’d accidentally been _turned on_ by _Pritchard_ of all people, but it just hadn’t gone away. He wasn’t especially sexually active lately. He hadn’t bothered to find a romantic partner or even a one-night stand since Megan. And the overwhelming majority of the time he really didn’t really care. 

Not to say he hadn’t jerked off the last two years of his life, that would be absurd. He’d learned the shower was one of the better places to do it. His hands could...chafe a little sometimes. Not to mention accidentally pinching his foreskin with his finger joints was one hell of a buzzkill, and much less likely in the shower. 

It felt strange jerking off knowing someone was just in the other room, though his cock apparently disagreed with the sentiment; he was already rock hard by the time he broke down and decided to take care of it. He bit his lip, stifling a moan as he slid back his foreskin, the water rolling over the exposed head of his cock. Why was he so sensitive this morning?

It was probably best to take care of it quickly, and get on with his shower, but Jensen found himself lingering, slowly sliding his hand up and down his shaft, eyes closed. He craved the feeling of someone touching him. Running their hands along his body, his chest, even his augs, and of course his hair. The water was almost a substitute, but god he wanted the real thing. The delicious feeling of someone else’s soft hands exploring his body, over his own all too familiar, hard augmented touch.

Still, he enjoyed the feeling of slowly running his fingers along his length, gently massaging his foreskin, lingering and teasing his cock in ways he usually didn’t bother with. It all just felt so damn good, his mouth falling open slightly as his cock throbbed and he lost himself in the sensations. 

Why on earth was he so damn _horny?_ Had he developed some extremely weak exhibition fetish and not noticed? Jerking off with the risk that Pritchard could wake up and walk through the door--he’d forgotten to lock it, living alone he was barely in the habit of even _closing_ the thing. What would even be the thrill in getting caught? Unless Pritchard decided to slide into the shower with him, roughly pushing Jensen up against the cold tiles, trailing those long fingers through his hair and up his thigh, his lips pressed against Jensen’s ear, calling him a filthy-

Jensen came hard, gasping as his cock twitched and pulsed, shooting hot streams of cum down the drain. After a few moments regaining his balance and catching his breath, the stark reality that he just jerked off to fantasies of _Pritchard_ came crashing around him. He slammed the shower temperature to cold, blasting every last scrap of arousal out of his system with icy water before hurrying out of the shower. 

Pritchard was _blessedly_ still asleep when Jensen emerged and got dressed, and remained asleep until he snuck out the front door. 

Jensen tried to put the whole thing out of his head. It was just his stupid mind wandering, it didn’t mean anything. Probably just a sign that he was maybe too used to being alone, if having someone on his couch threw him off so badly. 

But there was business to take care of. There was always business. He’d tracked down a couple vague leads on the calibrator the day before that were worth following up on.

Any residual arousal the shower didn’t wash away was promptly killed when he spotted his neighbor at the top of the stairs, smoking as per usual. She was a nice woman, but a terminal busybody. She liked to use her vantage point at the top of the stairs to spy on all the goings on of the apartment complex; that, and constantly asking into everyone’s business. She was so nosey Jensen considered her a security risk at first. But he learned soon enough that she was safe. She snooped like that on everyone in the building, and she was also blessedly opposed to authority and organized crime, making it unlikely she’d use her accumulated knowledge against anyone in any substantial way.

“Mrs. Bobko, sorry about yesterday, I hope Pritchard wasn’t too rude.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “No need for worry. Though, I do wonder about him. I believe you can do better,” she said warmly. Jensen wondered for a moment what she was talking about. Pritchard must have explained he was there helping out before Jensen walked in on the conversation.

“I know he can be kind of abrasive. But he’s good at what he does.”

She pursed her lips. “I find this...surprising. Does he have skills or does he have good...how you say, equipment?”

“Both, I suppose…” Except for the damn neuroplasticity calibrator.

She gave Jensen a very thorough once over, as if seeing him for the first time, before she nodded, an almost devious smile on her lips. 

“I see. I understand now. If this is true, good luck. It can be worth trade,” she said with a wink.

“Yeah…” Jensen said, heading on his way, under the distinct impression they'd just had two entirely different conversations. But he had things to do.

About two flights of stairs down Jensen suddenly felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Wait- she didn’t think? He paused, horrified. Why would she think- she couldn’t possibly think that-- 

He continued on his way. It didn’t bear worrying about. What she got out of the conversation was her problem.

Jensen mentally ran down his list of slightly more important problems. Like the location of both a calibrator and Koller in general. He’d been too distracted by his eyes cutting out the first time he searched the place, he hadn’t noticed something extremely odd until his second visit: The place didn’t look ransacked at all. For how much equipment was missing? He would have expected much more chaos. Pritchard’s own mishap reminded him that the last time Koller found himself in trouble with organized crime. That had ended in more than its fair share of property damage. This was just a door left open. He didn’t know what it meant, but it was odd.

He checked in with Alex, only to find she was still working on her lead. She was fairly certain she’d tracked Koller to Brazil. Unfortunately, how or why he’d been spirited so far away was anyone’s guess at this point, but it seemed impossible for Jensen to get involved with any sort of rescue operation now. Jensen spent the rest of the afternoon following up with every other pawn shop and half assed engineer he knew of, or that Alex had pointed him to the previous week that he hadn’t already talked to. Still no luck.

The route back from Jensen’s last lead happened to take him past Praha Dovoz. While he was mentally cursing Interpol for the thousandth time that week, he just so happened to spot MacReady walking out. Jensen altered course, heading towards the man. MacReady frowned at Jensen as soon as he spotted him.

“I know what you’re going to say, and no,” MacReady said, quickening his pace towards the subway even as Jensen caught up to him.

“If you help me out with those incident reports I could have my Infolink back online faster,” Jensen said anyway. He’d asked for the unusual incident reports about a dozen times relating to Koller’s disappearance. It couldn’t be _that_ great an inconvenience.

“You’re on leave. You don’t get to access the reports.”

“Okay, then maybe someone in the office can look into it.”

“The local cops have been notified about the missing person,” MacReady said, sounding like a broken record.

“We both know they’re not going to do anything about it,” Jensen snapped.

MacReady stopped, turning to him, not so much looking angry for once, but just tired. “Look. Jensen. I know it’s hard to be away from the action, and the whole situation is a little fucked-”

“A _little?_ ”

MacReady flatly ignored the interjection. “But you need to let it go. I know the waitlist is long, but we can’t have you running around doing unsanctioned investigations. Think of it like a vacation. Try and relax? Christ knows you need to. Go out. Have fun. You need to learn how to unwind a little. I don’t know, get laid, get a cat, go on a meditation retreat, something.”

“Get laid?” Jensen said, taken aback. Because the way the day had been going wasn’t weird enough.

“You know, Jensen, I was kind of expecting you to object to the meditation retreat part, not the getting laid part. I think that might speak volumes.”

“I don’t know what my personal life has anything to do with-”

“The problem is you HAVE no personal life. It’s not healthy. You’ll probably burst a cog in that head of yours from being screwed up so damn tight all the time. Relax. Get a life. That’s an order.” With that, as Jensen stood at a loss for words, MacReady strode away, disappearing into the subway. 

Jensen clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. Telling him he needed to get _laid?_ Seriously? Of course the guy with three ex-wives would think the solution to his problems lay at the end of his dick. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of those wives started as a way to “relieve stress.” 

Then again, if this morning was any indication, maybe he had a point. That was an easier explanation for what glitched in Jensen’s head and made him jerk it to Pritchard than anything else he’d come up with. He’d been bored and frustrated for a week. And technically there _were_ a few establishments in the Red Light District that were more than happy to entertain augs. 

That’s when he got a completely different idea. A few of the clubs and brothels featured large percentages of augmented workers. Most of them were organized crime controlled, but as far as Jensen knew, one or two weren’t. He had to wonder where their workers went for upkeep on their augs. Maybe they had someone in house who’d be willing to negotiate, maybe they’d just have leads for him, either way it seemed worth looking into. It was a portion of the aug community he lacked contacts for.

Too bad the Red Light District wouldn’t come to life for a few hours. 

A buzz in Jensen’s pocket startled him out of his thoughts. He was not used to carrying a phone anymore, but with his Infolink offline it was his most practical option.

There was a message from Pritchard. _“Things are handled for now. I still have a few issues to take care of, but we can run the second diagnostic whenever you want.”_

Jensen frowned at the message. While it was technically good news… he swallowed at the thought of sitting through another diagnostic. Now after… Part of him almost wanted to run home for the excuse to be touched, which was enough in itself to make him want to avoid going home at all costs.

He’d waited a week. He could wait another day on the diagnostic. _“Go ahead and take care of your things. I’m following up on a few leads. Will likely be returning late.”_

_“Sounds good. Don’t have too much fun.”_

Jensen rolled his eyes at the message, and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Now, to figure out what to do until the Red Light District opened. 

With no better ideas, Jensen decided to grab a bite to eat, and head to the nearest bar. The time passed easily enough. He ended up chatting with some friendly strangers. Even though some days it felt like it, not _everyone_ in town was an asshole. 

By the time he headed to the Red Light District, Jensen was probably a few drinks deeper than he should have been while on a mission. But he wasn’t drunk quite yet. Hell, going in tipsy was probably better cover than being stone sober. 

The first place he decided to stop by, to Jensen’s surprise, turned out to be just a brothel. No bar, no dance floor, no strippers; just what seemed like a cramped hotel lobby. Pink carpet stretched from wall to wall, helping cast the dimly lit lobby in a pink glow. The wallpaper was clean, but peeling up in a few places, the intricate golden pattern glowing warmly in the dim room. It probably all looked very nice and expensive at some point, if still exceedingly tacky. The front desk featured pictures of the workers and a large muscular man behind the counter, ready to break any troublemakers in half. Nonetheless, he greeted Jensen with a friendly smile.

“New customer? You choose your girl, and time, and I give you the key. Easy. You cause trouble? I toss you out a window, sound good?”

“I’m actually looking for some information…”

“We do not reveal private information of guests,” the bouncer said, immediately growing hostile, narrowing his eyes at Jensen.

“No, that’s not it. A lot of your girls are augmented,” he said, gesturing to the images of the workers in various states of undress; probably half of them had augments of some kind or another. “I’m trying to find information on people who can fix augments outside of the usual channels, I was hoping someone here might know.”

The man shrugged, his hostility fading immediately. “You’d have to ask them. To meet girls you must pay for time. Thirty minutes is our shortest session. Who would you like to ask?” he said, waving his hand across the photos. Jensen frowned; he should have known. 

Jensen sighed, it would be more expensive than he preferred, but it was worth a shot. He scanned the images of the women, and a handful of men. How was he supposed to guess who would be the most forthcoming? Someone with more augments than average would be likely to have had needed more maintenance. He spotted a woman who had both legs augmented just above the knee, and her left arm at the shoulder. She also sported a friendly smile that reached her eyes in the photo, as opposed to an attempt to look sultry or seductive like most of the others.

“Ah, Lana, excellent choice. She is a very sweet girl. Room twenty-four,” the man said after Jensen handed over the credits. The man moved to the back wall which was covered in hooks and scattered keys, and grabbed the appropriate key, tossing it to Jensen.

Jensen turned the key over in his palm, examining it. A metal toothed key, this place was downright vintage. 

“Have fun,” the man said with a chuckle. Jensen shook his head and walked off to the stairs. 

The building was mostly quiet, it seemed the rooms were pretty well soundproofed, with the exception of the muffled sounds of what seemed like an extraordinarily robust spanking session. From how quiet everything else was, he could only imagine how loud the strikes and the man’s yells were in person to be penetrating the walls. Jensen was a little grateful to be at least tipsy for this weird adventure.

He’d never purchased the services of a sex worker before. Nor had he even felt the desire, and this wasn’t changing that. But he could only imagine MacReady’s smug face if he caught him here. 

When he reached the door, he hesitated. Did he just go in? Did he knock first? What was the etiquette? He decided to err on the side of knocking. A cheerful voice called for him to come in.

As soon as Jensen entered, the woman appeared, sliding her metal arm around Jensen’s waist, looking up at him with a wide smile. She was dressed in a flattering pink silk chemise, which was almost modest compared to what Jensen expected, given the context. 

“Well, look at you. You are _handsome._ I guess tonight’s my lucky night…” Lana purred, running her other hand up his chest. Jensen tensed involuntarily, but resisted pushing her away. 

“I’m not actually here for...that. I’m actually looking for some leads on who’s good at working with augments in town, none of my sources have what I’m looking for.”

The woman leaned away, giving Jensen a critical once over. “Oh? What’s your issue? Maybe I can help,” she said, taking his hand, entwining her metal fingers in his. When Jensen gave her a skeptical look she elaborated. “Believe it or not I actually used to be a physical therapist. Focused on augmentation recovery before the LIMB clinics took over and wouldn’t hire me. If your arms just need adjustment…” she trailed off, her natural hand reaching up to his face, gently trailing along his lens ports. “Though I couldn’t do much here for these.”

Jensen gently caught her hand caressing his face, pulling it away, slowly trying to put some distance between them. “It’s not an external issue,” he said.

She took a step back, getting the hint with a friendly smile. “Sorry, I guess being overly familiar comes with the job. And yes, I don’t really have the equipment for that here. Unless it’s a synthetic prostate adjustment,” she said with a laugh. 

“They have those?” Jensen asked despite himself. Lana chuckled as she led him towards the bed, her synthetic hand still clasping his. He let himself be led, sitting at the foot of the bed next to her.

“Yep. Not very common, even back in the day they were mostly black market. But they’re around. Let’s see, who do I know...” She rested a hand on his thigh, casually, then blinked with surprise, feeling the artificial limb underneath, but didn’t say anything. She started listing engineers she knew of, which paralleled everyone Jensen had already seen. It seemed she usually went to Koller, unfortunately. And appreciated the need to not get involved with any “family” people. 

Eventually she came up with a name Jensen hadn’t heard before. Katalina. She was a fellow sex worker who, while not an engineer, ran a black market aug business on the side. She had excellent connections for finding rare and unusual pieces. Like those synthetic prostates, apparently. The down side was the club she worked for was a little...different.

“But you look like you could handle yourself there. You might need to loosen up though,” she said with a chuckle, shaking Jensen’s shoulder gently. “You walk in there looking like this they’re going to think you’re a cop.” Lana giggled as Jensen sighed. “Here, take your shirt off and lay down, I’ll help you relax…”

“I’m not interested in-”

“Honey, I said your shirt, not your pants. I used to be a physical therapist, remember? You’re so stiff it’s making my neck hurt looking at you.” She reached up, starting to help him out of his coat as Jensen gave her a skeptical look. “What? You paid for thirty minutes, might as well get something more out of it than a name.”

Jensen reluctantly decided to cooperate. He noticed the strange difference in temperature as her synthetic hand and natural hand brushed along his waist, grabbing his shirt, before slowly working it up over his head. Being undressed by a beautiful, scantily clad woman should have been exciting, even if she was just doing her job. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t even embarrassed. He felt nothing. That fact alone was almost more disturbing than anything else.

“My god,” she murmured, giving him a slow, thorough inspection once she had his shirt off. “You’re a work of art.” She reached out, trailing her fingers along his collarbone and Typhoon ports. He sincerely doubted she’d seen anything like it before. Jensen shifted a little uncomfortably, causing her to smile and apologize. “Go, lay on your stomach.”

Jensen wasn’t really sure why he was going along with it, perhaps some vague curiosity, but he did anyway, laying down on the red silk sheets. She knelt on the bed next to him, and got to work massaging his back. That awful feeling, the need to crawl out of his skin, collapse in on himself crept into his core as her hands roamed his back, and where his augs roughly tied to his flesh. But after a while the feeling started to subside, at least the faintest bit.

She started out gentle, feeling around. “Just because you’re half carbon fiber doesn’t mean you get to neglect your muscles,” she scolded after informing him that he was “one giant knot.”

Soon enough her strategy changed as she dug painfully unto his back and shoulders, but with the precision of a professional. It seemed she wasn’t lying about her past. She even managed to adjust his left shoulder, popping _something_ back into place. He’d noticed it gliding a little rough lately, but not enough that he thought it needed maintenance. Apparently, he was wrong. 

It felt nice. Not the least bit erotic, but definitely relaxing. It was ironic, considering his...mood earlier in the morning, craving being touched by someone, and now he had a beautiful woman messaging his shirtless back, and there was nothing. He was relaxed, and possibly wanted to nap, but that was it. 

“You know, it’s funny,” she said softly, sounding sad, distant, as she firmly worked the knots out of Jensen’s muscles. “I was in a car crash when I was very young. I lost my arm, and my legs were crippled. It was difficult managing, until I got my augs. I cried with joy the day I got to throw out my wheelchair. I was inspired to help everyone like me regain all of their mobility. I had my calling. And now here I am…”

“Hopefully things will turn around again,” Jensen muttered into the pillow. Lana sighed.

“It doesn’t look that way from where I’m sitting. It is ridiculous that you have to come _here_ looking for help getting fixed.”

Jensen had to agree. “It’s getting hard for all of us, it seems.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t dump on you like that. I just...” 

“It’s fine. I know what you mean,” Jensen said, turning to glance at her, but she pushed him back down onto the bed with a smile.

“I’m almost done,” she said. She then started peppering him with advice about his posture, how to carry the weight of his augments, and warnings about the ways the body sometimes adjusted incorrectly. It was all information he already knew, or had at least heard during recovery, but probably good things to be reminded of. She was right, he didn’t spend much time taking care of himself. 

Finally, she crawled off the bed, giving his arm a pat. “Your thirty minutes are up,” she said. 

Jensen sat up, rolling his shoulders and neck. He actually felt much better. Who could say how long it had been since he got a professional massage. Lana smiled, walking around to face him. She grabbed his hands, pulling him from the bed, smirking up at him as he stood.

“Come back if you want another message. It’s nice to do some of my old work again,” she said with a chuckle. “I might even give you a discount, since I don’t really have to do much cleanup.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jensen said. She smiled, running her fingers through his hair, before tsking. She planted a hand on each shoulder, firmly pushing them down. 

“The tension again! Remember. Loose and relaxed,” she scolded gently. Jensen let out a breath, letting his shoulders drop. She nodded in approval, and sent him on his way.

Jensen headed out to his next stop. The club Lana sent him to was one he’d never even heard of before. The door was small and inconspicuous, opening to a set of stairs leading down into a basement. It was like night and day compared to the peaceful brothel. Strobing lights, loud thumping music that was almost hypnotic in its merciless pounding, the low notes vibrating straight into his chest. The dance floor was packed with half-dressed people, and a few who he was pretty sure were wearing nothing but body paint. Lana was right, he would stand out here.

Jensen strode to the bar, ordering a shot of absinthe. His buzz from earlier wasn’t gone yet, but it could use a refresher. 

It took a bit of prowling and few more drinks before someone finally pointed him to Katalina. The woman was clad in tight leather shorts revealing an augmented leg, and a leather bustier that thrust her breasts up on display. Her long black hair was gathered into a ponytail on top of her head. All she was missing was a riding crop to complete the look. She grinned when Jensen finally approached her.

“You know, the second you walked in here I knew you were looking for me, tech boy…” she said. 

“I heard you were the person to talk to when it came to unusual augmentation supplies.”

She smiled indulgently. “You heard right, but I’m sorry, I only do business with friends,” she said trailing off, licking her teeth and eyeing him. 

“Oh? And how does someone become your friend?” Jensen asked, leaning over her. If this was the game she wanted to play, so be it. Though he really hoped he wasn’t going to end up paying for sex he had no intention of having for a second time in one night.

She giggled. “My friends like to party, come, let’s get drinks.”

She dragged him back to the bar, telling him to order them a round of shots. She then set into conversation. Or possibly an interrogation. Some of the questions were probing, looking for information, red flags, family affiliations. But many were also more mundane, hobbies, interests, favorite sex positions...

A few more rounds deep the club was starting to blur. He had no idea how the woman was keeping up with him shot for shot. Maybe he’d had more beforehand than he remembered.

Finally, she slammed her hand down on the table, and asked the bartender for what Jensen was pretty sure she called a “Kat Special.” A few minutes later, the bartender handed over some neon blue fizzing shot glasses.

“I like you. I think we can be friends,” she said, taking both glasses, standing chest to chest with Jensen. She handed him one, then linked her elbow through his, almost making him spill in the process, giggling the whole way. “On the count of three?” she announced gleefully. Jensen shrugged, and obediently downed his drink along with her. It was almost sickeningly sweet. He was really expecting something with a little more punch. 

She slammed her glass on the counter, and reached into her bustier, pulling out a business card, much to Jensen’s surprise. She planted a kiss on the back of it, leaving a red lipstick stain before handing it to him. “Stop by later, we can discuss what you need,” she said with a wink. “But for now, come, let’s dance,” she said, grabbing both his hands once he tucked the card away in his coat pocket.

“I don’t really-”

“ _All_ of my friends dance,” she insisted with a grin, dragging him towards the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor. The world sloshed as Katalina pulled him forward. He’d had far too much to drink, but even accounting for that, something seemed wrong as he moved along after her. The room seemed even brighter, louder, resonating in his bones. The flashing spinning lights painting a kaleidoscope of colors on his artificial retinas with such ferocity he could barely keep track of his own body. 

No, that wasn’t alcohol in that last drink. What did you…” Jensen started, stumbling, jumping as a dancer jostled into him, sending bolts of electricity through his augs. What was happening...

Katalina laughed, pulling him close, shouting into his ear over the music, a conspiratorial grin on her lips. “Just enjoy the ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been looking forward to adding the "emotionally fraught shower wanking" tag


	6. Chapter 6

Pritchard cracked an eye open as he heard someone input the wrong code in the door lock. A few moments and a few keypresses later, the code was accepted, and the door swung open with a thump. Footsteps shuffled in, and the door clicked back shut. Pritchard started slowly lowering his hand, he’d stashed a stun gun under the couch, just in case. This didn’t sound right.

The next couple footsteps were staggered and uncoordinated, then a thump, and the sound of someone tumbling to the ground, followed by a grunt that definitely sounded like Jensen. Pritchard sighed into his pillow, letting go of the stun gun. Not an intruder, just a drunk dipshit. 

Still, that sounded like a pretty hard fall. Pritchard sat up, peering over the back of the couch, spotting Jensen’s crumpled form lying on the ground a half dozen steps from the door.

“You okay?” Pritchard asked. 

After a few moments of struggle, Jensen flopped onto his back. He might have mumbled something, but Pritchard couldn’t begin to make it out. When Jensen didn’t move again, Pritchard got up to go check on him. 

By the time Pritchard got to him, Jensen was moving again, a little bit at least, holding his hand up, examining it in the dark, brows furrowed. He smelled so strongly of liquor Pritchard had to conclude a drink was spilled on him at some point. Even with Jensen’s drinking problem, there was simply no other explanation.

“Jensen…” Pritchard said again, trying to get his attention as he leaned over the man. Jensen finally shifted his eyes to him, the gold retinas glinting in the dark. To Pritchard’s surprise, a soft, fond smile came over the man’s face.

“Francis…” Jensen blinked up at him, before reaching out with his elevated hand, and proceeding to run it through Pritchard’s hair, much to the hacker’s dumbfounded shock. “Your hair is nice…” Jensen murmured, twirling a lock around his finger, before gently brushing his fingers in again, trailing along Pritchard’s scalp before drifting down. He reached a second hand up, which Pritchard caught, alarmed, his heart thundering in his chest, what was going on?

“What are you doing?” Pritchard hissed, trying to capture the hand on his hair before Jensen could continue his petting, his face growing hot.

Jensen just hummed, the previously grabbed hand escaping Pritchard’s grip, coming to rest on his chest, stroking down. “Your shirt’s soft…”

Pritchard snagged the runaway hand before it trailed too far down his abdomen, and tried to pull himself together. At least Jensen wasn’t putting up any actual sort of meaningful fight in this...whatever the hell this was. 

Pritchard frantically gathered his thoughts and looked the man over critically. A sheen of sweat covered his face, his pupils were dilated, and his heart was absolutely racing. He wasn’t just drunk, he was high on something. Probably some kind of party drug. It was odd, Jensen didn’t seem like the type. And Pritchard hadn’t noticed any traces of MDMA or anything like it in the health scan, it seemed like something which would have stood out. 

Either way, it explained what was going on. “What did you take?” Pritchard asked, hurriedly disentangling Jensen’s hand from his hair before he stood to turn on a light. As soon as the light flicked on, Jensen let out a pathetic moan, rolling onto his side and covering his head.

“Bright…” he whined.

“Jensen, listen to me, what did you take? It could be important.”

Jensen snorted a sloppy laugh. “A lot of shots.”

“Other than that…” Pritchard pried, walking back over to him.

Jensen shrugged, his hands starting to roam the floor now that Pritchard was out of reach. His coat looked filthy, like he’d fallen a few times before getting home. “I don’t know. A lady bought us a drink and everything got a little. Vivid…”

Pritchard sighed. Yeah, probably a party drug. Seeing the state he was in, Pritchard was honestly surprised he made it home at all. 

“Everything feels so much,” Jensen muttered, suddenly going from relaxed casually petting his floor to curled up into a ball, one hand clenched in his hair so tight Pritchard was afraid he’d hurt himself.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed. It’ll be fine in the morning,” Pritchard said, squatting down to help Jensen up. The man jumped like he’d been electrocuted when Pritchard grabbed his arm, but calmed down after he got a grasp of what was happening. He staggered to his feet with Pritchard’s aid, looking disoriented. 

“Let’s get your coat off, it’s...really gross…” Pritchard said. Jensen nodded, robotically shrugging it off and dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor, staring at nothing Pritchard could see, when suddenly a light seemed to come back on in his eyes.

Jensen grabbed Pritchard’s face, much to the hacker’s alarm and borderline terror. He leaned in close enough it would have been tantalizing in just about any other situation. “I met a lady,” he whispered loudly, much to Pritchard’s immense relief and partial disappointment, though Pritchard would contemplate why he was disappointed later. “A lady with black market augs who’s not family.”

“Oh...Oh! Well, that’s good news,” Pritchard said, gently grasping Jensen’s wrists, trying to coax the man’s hands from his face. The glimmer of clarity in Jensen’s eyes rapidly fading as he blinked and squeezed his eyes shut, swaying on his feet. “We can discuss it in the morning, okay?”

Even though Jensen didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest, Pritchard succeeded in pulling Jensen’s hands off of his face, and slipped his own arm around the man’s ribs, supporting him while leading him towards the bedroom. About half way there, Jensen nearly went limp, leaning into Pritchard’s shoulder, making the hacker stagger under the weight. Jensen might have been half comprised of some of the strongest, lightest weight, high tech materials on the market, but he was still damn heavy.

This wasn’t actually the first time Pritchard had to babysit a friend through a bad trip. Hell, a couple times _he_ was the one being babysat through a bad trip. On one memorable occasion, the evening started with a certain hacker friend sobbing hysterically in his bathroom, and ended up with her curled up with Pritchard in bed. Much to her surprise in the morning, considering they were both quite gay. She just got really clingy, and Pritchard was too tired to deal with it, and just let her sleep in the bed with him. At least that way he could keep track of her in case she started freaking out again. She like to refer to it as the time they “slept together” just to make Pritchard want to throw up a little. 

But he had no intention of letting that scenario repeat here. With Artemis it was at least a little bit funny. Jensen though? That was a different story.

However, as Pritchard tried to unceremoniously dump Jensen onto his bed, he found himself dragged down with him when Jensen unexpectedly held on. Pritchard let out a strangled cry of alarm, finding himself laying on top of Jensen. 

Jensen chuckled, a low suggestive sound that sent chills of excitement down Pritchard’s spine, before he could scold himself for it. Once again, Jensen’s wandering hands ended up in his hair. Pritchard had to reorient himself, half straddling Jensen so he could get his arms free and pry Jensen’s hands off again. “Jensen, no, stop it, come on,” Pritchard snapped, managing to keep the borderline panic out of his voice.

Pritchard winced as he yanked one of the hands away from his face, several strands of hair going with it, caught in Jensen’s metal knuckles. Jensen muttered a faint “sorry”, though one of his hands still escaped Pritchard’s grasp and found its way to his stomach, stroking his shirt, trailing down, seeming to make a beeline for his groin, which Pritchard hurriedly intercepted.

“Christ! Jensen, get your shit together,” Pritchard snapped, finally successfully wrangling both hands, pinning them to the mattress. The smile this elicited from Jensen made Pritchard’s stomach flip. Jensen licked his lips, seemingly finally surrendering. Was he _into_ this? Pritchard kicked himself. Of course he wasn’t. He’d dealt with this before, he was just too high to function. 

Pritchard stood, Jensen thankfully not being _weird_ long enough for him to do so. He stuck around long enough to yank Jensen’s shoes off. As much as he wanted to flee the room, or perhaps the entire _country,_ he couldn’t stand the idea of Jensen rubbing his muddy boots on his sheets. With that taken care of, he bid Jensen a firm goodnight and left, the man muttered something unintelligible in response while nuzzling into his pillow.

When Pritchard turned the lights back off and returned to the couch, sleep was a ways off. He lay there for a good while, staring wide eyed at the ceiling, willing his heart rate to go back down. That was. Weird. 

Sure, Artemis had turned into something of a clingy lesbian octopus, sobbing in turn about how she loved Pritchrad for being such a good friend and how she was never going to get a girlfriend and was destined to die alone. And sure, the fact that Jensen was an extremely attractive man automatically changed the dynamic a little. But the way he acted…

Pritchard scolded himself, rolling onto his side and forcing his eyes closed. He was being a bad friend, thinking there was anything more to it. Jensen was high as a goddamn kite, even if it _was_ sexual, it was just the drugs. He’d probably do the same shit to Mrs. Babko.

He was curious what on earth Jensen took and _why_. Especially if he didn’t even know what it was, he could have died! He was a cop, or at least had been, he should know all about the dangers. Maybe whatever lunatics who were experimenting on him all the time were somehow responsible for this. He dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came, but...

Prichard’s supposedly posthumous prying into Jensen’s personal life didn’t end with snooping around his apartment. He had good reasons. At first at least. But digging into that matter led Pritchard to start finding some of the insanity in Jensen’s background. It became a bit of an obsession, trying to get to the bottom of it all. But he never did. One day he just...threw everything he could on it into a file and locked it away. It wasn’t doing anyone any good, Jensen was dead, and it was doing horrible things to Prichard’s mental health. With Sarif industries rapidly collapsing around them, there were enough living dramas to deal with. 

Now though? What he learned constantly made him worry, especially in light of Jensen’s new, unsolicited augments. That was clearly their handywork. Though dosing him with party drugs probably wasn’t. Even if they needed him incapacitated for whatever sinister reason. He probably just didn’t watch himself close enough when he was following up that lead. Getting trashed probably didn’t help him stay alert about that kind of thing. The alcohol on his breath revealed that it wasn’t only his coat that was soaked in it. It sounded like a lot of booze lead up to what was either a bad decision or getting dosed.

As he tried to sleep, the image of Jensen pinned under him with that _smile_ , licking his lips, kept surfacing in Pritchard’s mind. Pritchard couldn’t help but imagine leaving him pinned to the mattress below him, as he devoured those lips, jam his tongue into that smart mouth, then peeling off every last scrap of his clothes, and running his lips across where augs joined with flesh. He wanted to find his center, taste his cock, leave him writhing with pleasure until his problems disappeared from his mind. He wanted to hold him close, somehow protect him from all the bullshit of the world.

Even though the incident said absolutely nothing about Jensen’s feelings, it did make Pritchard’s own feelings crystal clear. He wasn’t just attracted to Jensen. The man was stunning, who wouldn’t be? But it was obvious now, why he spent so much time obsessing about what happened to him. Why he was willing to drop everything and fly out to fucking _Prague_ for a _favor._

After what must have been an hour of failing to sleep, his head spinning, Pritchard sat up and grabbed his laptop. 

Nucl3arsnake:  
_You were right and I hate you._

Artemis420:  
_Of course I’m right. But please elaborate on what I’m right about this time._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Jensen._

Artemis420:  
_Ohhh, you finally realize you’re head over heels for your pretty twunk boy?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Twunk? Seriously?  
And I wouldn’t say “head over heels” but yes. How did you know?_

Artemis420:  
_I don’t know._  
_You talked about him and how you hated him too much._  
_Not to mention I’m about as gay as they come and even I can recognize the boy’s a solid 9._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Why not a 10?_

Artemis420:  
_He’s not a woman._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Right. Anyway, what do I do?_

Artemis420:  
_Seems like a moot point._  
_Isn’t your boy gallivanting around with Interpol or something right now?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_He’s the reason I’m in Prague.  
I’m staying at his apartment._

Artemis420:  
_Fucking WHAT?!  
Get SOME_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_But what do I do?!_

Artemis420:  
_You are asking the wrong person my guy._  
_1: I only know how to flirt with girls._  
_2: I’m really bad at flirting with girls._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_I still think you should just ask Shadowchild out._

Artemis420:  
_She is SO out of my league.  
Have you seen her code? It’s beautiful._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_She is not out of your league. Your code is fine._

Artemis420:  
_FINE isn’t ART._  
_And since when is this about me? This is about you hanging out in the apartment of the guy you’ve carried a torch for since forever._  
_Where is he right now anyway if you’re talking to me instead of flirting with him?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_It’s the middle of the night. He’s asleep._

Artemis420:  
_Okay so here’s your game plan. When he wakes up you go up, sit in his lap and go “do you want to ride this nuclear snake?”_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Why do I even talk to you again?_

Artemis420:  
_Because you love me._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_And I think you just revealed why you can’t pick up women…_

Artemis420:  
_Yeah…  
Wait. The boy isn’t straight is he?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_I don’t know.  
Possibly?_

He hadn’t _acted_ very straight. But again. The drugs were no doubt doing a number on his mental state. Though it’s not like Artemis had come onto him quite like that…she was handsy but it felt different. However, that could have just been Pritchard’s own extreme personal disinterest in her. He shook his head.

Artemis420:  
_You should probably figure that out first. Might save you a lot of heartache._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_How the hell do I figure that out?!_

Artemis420:  
_You don’t know?_  
_Don’t you get laid more than I do?_  
_How?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Dating apps?_  
_Mostly?  
_ _Usually those just have a check box for if you like men or not._

Artemis420:  
_You could just ask?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Sounds great just._ _So. Jensen. Here's a question. Sucking dick. Thoughts?_

Artemis420  
_Yeah._  
_Only without being a sarcastic dipshit about it._  
_Whatever. I’m sure you’ll come up with something._  
_Sorry, gotta go._

Pritchard sighed, powering off his laptop and shoving it under the couch. He rested his head in his hands, wondering how he’d gotten himself into this situation. Then again it wasn’t the first time he’d put himself in a stupid position because of feelings for a guy.

She had a point, there was a high probability he was straight and not worth worrying about. He hadn’t acted very straight, but again, that wasn’t fair given the drugs. 

Even if he _was_ bi, it still didn’t matter. There was no way he’d be interested in some greasy little hacker with few social skills, even less charm, and no looks.

Pritchard thudded his face down on the pillow and once again tried to force himself asleep.

* * *

Pritchard woke in the morning to the charming sound of Jensen throwing up. Well, at least he was alive. After a few more dry sounding retches and a flush, Pritchard got up. He wandered to the bathroom, finding the door open. Jensen knelt on the floor next to the toilet, stripped down to his boxer briefs, covered in sweat. Who could say when the rest of his clothes came off, though Pritchard wasn’t surprised.

Seeing Jensen in such a state of undress was a little bit of a shock, Pritchard had never truly seen it before. It was remarkable to be reminded so vividly of just how augmented the man was. The view was, unfortunately, anything but tantalizing. What skin remained was blotchy and pale, featuring a few random bruises, and he was drenched in sweat. He even seemed to be shaking a little. About what Pritchard would expect after everything. 

Pritchard folded his arms, leaning on the doorway. “Have fun last night?”

Jensen glanced up, his arms and much of his weight still leaning on the toilet, looking bleary eyed and miserable. “What the _fuck_ happened…”

“Sounds like you had some drinks, made some friends, and took something you shouldn’t have. Your Sentinel is already struggling to keep up, you’re going to have fun getting this one out of your system,” Pritchard said.

Jensen groaned, running a hand over his face. He paused, pulling his hand away, examining it. Pritchard’s hairs were still stuck in his finger joints. Jensen looked so baffled Pritchard almost felt sorry for him. Jensen analyzed the hairs as he picked them out of his hand and dropped them into the toilet, shaking his head.

“Were those yours?” Jensen asked, cringing.

“Yes,” Pritchard sighed half consciously rubbing the spot where they’d been ripped out. 

“Sorry...what did I do?”

“Don’t worry about it, you were just being...clumsy,” Pritchard said hesitantly. No need to get into the details if it wasn’t necessary.

“I don’t remember…” he hesitated, his eyes drifting to the ground, brows furrowed. “I guess I was looking for a lead on the calibrator and got an address. The rest is kind of a blur.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about following up on that lead too soon. There’s no way you could undergo a diagnostic, let alone an actual procedure, until whatever you took is out of your system.”

“How long should that be?”

Pritchard sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know. I’m guessing you either took MDMA or something they’re calling EMP, or possibly a mix of things. Since we don’t know, it’s probably best to err on the safe side, which would be four days or so.”

“Four days?” Jensen asked, sounding completely defeated. He opened his mouth, seemingly to protest again, but ended up heaving over the toilet instead.

Once he was done, Pritchard continued. “The good news is this part will probably be done in a few hours, but yes, it can take a while, especially for the EMP. As the nickname implies, it specifically impacts augmentations. Dials your sensory inputs up to a thousand, if that sounds familiar. It takes its time working its way back out too, even with an amped up health system.” 

Jensen leaned his forehead on his arm. “Sorry,” he muttered, sounding exhausted.

Pritchard shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. It’s not like I have anywhere to go, I might as well stay in Prague for a while.” He sighed, Jensen looked so miserable, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Though it didn’t change how upset Pritchard was with him. “Jensen…” he started, his voice tense, before he paused, taking a breath. “...Adam...If you don’t even know what you took, or how much? You could have died. You really need to stop drinking so much.”

“Yeah. I know,” Jensen muttered, much to Pritchard’s surprise. 

Pritchard managed to bite back a reflexively snide comment. It was a good thing Jensen was at least admitting he had a problem; he shouldn’t reprimand him for it. He knew how...hard these things could be. The question remained if he was willing to try and do anything about it, but that was probably a discussion that could wait for when he wasn’t sitting half naked on the floor clutching the toilet.

“I know I got a lead on a new source but I can’t remember who…” Jensen grumbled, miserably, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, you mentioned that last night. Something about an address?” Pritchard said. 

“Maybe. Could have input it into my phone.”

“Want me to check?” Pritchard asked, Jensen nodded.

The coat was still in the middle of the floor where Jensen shrugged it off. Pritchard picked it up a little hesitantly. It was gross. What did he do? Roll home? Pritchard confirmed his theory about a drink being spilled on him. Maybe even more than one. “I really hope you have a good drycleaner,” Pritchard said, reaching into the pockets. 

Pritchard tuned out the sound of Jensen returning to throwing up. There was definitely nothing left in his stomach, now his body was just needlessly torturing him. Pritchard reached into the first pocket he found, pulling out Jensen’s passport and identification papers. He set them aside with mild disgust at so much documentation being necessary. Pritchard had quite a stack himself, but he didn’t have to contend with the military hardware permits. And honestly, none of it should have been needed at all. It seemed almost cruel for Interpol to station such a heavily augmented individual in such a prejudiced city. 

Second try he found Jensen’s phone. Unfortunately, an immense jagged crack split the device nearly down the middle. Jensen must have landed on it at some point during the night. Pritchard set it aside, continuing to dig through the pockets, just in case there was something else. He might be able to retrieve data from the phone, but it was pretty bad. 

Finally, he found a business card with an address and a red lipstick mark on the back. It didn’t strike him as the card of someone in the aug business, but after the night Jensen had, who could guess?

“Jensen, do you usually carry credits in your coat?” Pritchard asked once the retching died down for a bit. 

“Yeah. I have a wallet…”

“Well, you don’t anymore,” Pritchard said, double checking the pockets.

“Great.”

“At least they let you keep your documentation? Also you broke your phone.”

“Fantastic. Any more good news?” Jensen groaned.

“I found a business card with an address that looks like it’s for a call girl...I guess it could be her,” Pritchard said, walking back to the bathroom door. He held the business card up. Jensen eyed it, brows furrowed.

“Why would I have a call girl’s business card?”

“Don’t ask me! It was in your coat pocket.” Pritchard sighed, shaking his head. “Well...It’s worth looking into later. Also, I will need to use that eventually,” Pritchard said, gesturing to the toilet. 

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Jensen said. 

“Alright, just don’t take too long or I’ll be forced to piss in your kitchen sink,” Pritchard promised, closing the door with a smirk, giving him some privacy.

“Don’t you dare!”

Well, hopefully he was already feeling a little better if he could yell like that.

Fortunately, Pritchard was not forced to piss in the sink. Though, as soon as he was done, Jensen was back locked in the bathroom again. He heard the shower turn on. Probably for the best.

Pritchard couldn’t help feeling bad for Jensen, even if this was a disaster at least partly of his own making. He’d probably need food once his stomach stopped torturing him. Pritchard mentally went over the groceries he’d purchased in his head, along with the stray things he found in the apartment. The options were limited, but eventually he settled on making crepes. 

While he didn’t bother cooking nearly as much as he should, Pritchard did enjoy doing it. He was usually just...busy. Though it was frustrating navigating Jensen’s kitchen and discovering the massive dearth of quality cooking equipment. The man didn’t even own a cutting board. Who didn’t own a cutting board? 

At least the cooking equipment he did have was in good shape, so the first crepe slid off the pan with ease, just in time for Jensen to reappear. This time he was clad in sweatpants, though his chest was still exposed. He looked far more alive than before. The shower brought most of the color back to his skin, and his damp hair looked tousled instead of being pancaked to his head. While he obviously wasn’t 100% yet, with dark bags under his eyes and sagging shoulders... goddamn he still looked good. 

If there was one positive to Pritchard realizing his feelings, is was that finding himself checking out Jensen was much less alarming. 

“Here,” Pritchard said, sliding the freshly plated crepe across the counter towards him. “I hope you like butter and sugar, because there’s not much else to go with them.”

Jensen looked down at the frankly flawless crepe, and back up at Pritchard, looking almost as confused as he did clutching the toilet an hour earlier. “You can cook?”

“Is it that surprising?” Pritchard asked, grabbing the butter and plopping it down in front of Jensen, before he snapped his fingers. “Right. Fork…” He set about looking for the silverware, and opened nearly every drawer before he found them. “Did you put any thought into the layout of your kitchen? Honestly.”

“Not really…” Jensen said, muttering his thanks when Pritchard finally handed him a fork. 

“It shows,” Pritchard mused, hunting down and finding a water glass before filling it and sliding that to Jensen as well. He took it and downed half of it in one go, then hesitated, wincing, seemingly regretting chugging so fast.

They slid into silence, Jensen poking at his crepe listlessly as Pritchard continued making a handful more. Just as Pritchard was plating his own breakfast, Jensen spoke, sounding hesitant.

“I didn’t do anything weird last night, did I?”

Pritchard snorted. “No, not really,” he lied. Well, technically it was half true. “Though I suppose you’d have to define weird. You were high as a kite, by definition you were acting strange,” Pritchard said, trying to will his nerves steady. It was annoying knowing Jensen was harder to bluff than average. But with his own social aug, he also knew it was easy to misread tells as all sorts of things. 

“I can’t remember much of anything. Some flashes. What happened when I got here?”

“Not a whole lot. Practically had to carry you to your bed, which I am _not_ built for,” Pritchard huffed. That actually elicited a small laugh from Jensen. Well, at least Pritchard’s lack of upper body strength could lighten the mood a little. However, Jensen’s smile soon faded.

“What time did I get back?” Jensen asked, apprehensive, like he didn’t really want to know the answer as he pulled apart the crepe with his fork.

“Probably two thirty-ish?” Pritchard replied. “Honestly with the state you were in I’m surprised you made it back here at all.”

Jensen breathed a sigh of relief. “Guess, I’m not missing too much time then…” 

“What time do you think you got dosed?”

“Last I remember checking was around one AM. I can remember some time after that but it’s hard to say how long...”

Pritchard nodded. “Maybe your new friends sent you home once they realized how fucked up you were.”

Jensen shook his head. “No idea…” He finally took a bite of the crepe, hesitating after he swallowed. Once his stomach failed to reject it, he started eating.

Pritchard eyed him, taking a sip of his coffee. “When we run that diagnostic again I can make sure you weren’t...no one did anything, if you would like. But it would need to be a full body scan again, instead of just the localized,” Pritchard offered. 

Jensen paused in his eating, head down. “I’ll think about it.”

“Of course.”

After breakfast, Jensen, perhaps predictably, disappeared back to his room. He still had plenty to sleep off. Pritchard took the opportunity to finally catch up on some of the work he’d been ignoring. To be fair, having his hideout destroyed was possibly a larger hitch in his work schedule than the entire Prague trip...but it was still good to get things back on track, and make some money. 

Luckily, despite the destruction of his servers, most of his data was backed up off site, including all of his current projects. One task he’d been avoiding ended up only taking him a couple hours, and the client was paying well. At least he’d be set for a little while longer.

Four more days in Prague at a minimum. At least Jensen’s couch was pretty comfortable to sleep on. Not the best, but he’d stayed worse places. Growing up his friends made fun of him for his ability to fall sleep just about anywhere. Who knew it would turn out to be a useful life skill? Though who could say when Jensen would get fed up with his house guest. Pritchard scouted around on and off for good places to stay, and came up empty handed. Unless he wanted to couch surf at Babayaga50’s place. But that guy was high strung and _annoying._ There was also the issue of clothes and neuropozine. He’d packed for a few days max. At least Jensen had a washer and dryer but it was still inconvenient. 

But, concerns aside, the rest of the day passed peacefully, even pleasantly. He expected to be annoyed by the occasional interruption to his focus in the form of Jensen milling around, but mostly it was nice to have company. The whole thing made Pritchard wonder if he should try to get a roommate again. But who would he live with, Artemis? He’d end up murdering her by the end of the month. Though she was already known to show up uninvited, it might just save time. Besides, it’s not like he’d ever feel secure living with a stranger. Trust was a rare commodity these days.

By evening, the amiable quiet wore itself into boredom. Pritchard ran out of focus to do any work, and he found himself sitting on the couch with Jensen, flipping through channels on the TV. Nothing looked interesting, and Jensen looked equally unimpressed with the choices of programming, until Pritchard flipped past a baseball game.

“Wait, go back, who’s playing,” Jensen said, leaning forward. Pritchard did not go back, continuing through channels. 

“I can’t believe you like baseball. Only nerds like baseball,” Pritchard muttered.

“ _You’re_ calling me a nerd? If either of us here is the nerd it’s you.”

“I’m not a nerd. I’m, I don’t know...a geek,” Pritchard said with a faint smirk.

“What the difference?”

“I don’t know, I assume there’s one,” Pritchard shrugged.

Jensen snatched the remote from Pritchard’s hand without warning. The hacker let out a started “hey!” reaching to grab it back, only to have Jensen’s other hand planted firmly against his forehead, keeping him at arm's length, and uselessly out of range of the remote.

“What are you twelve?” Pritchard snapped, flailing at the remote despite knowing it was in vein.

Jensen laughed, sounding quite pleased with himself. “Hey, it’s my apartment.”

“Just because I called you a _nerd_ doesn’t mean you have to revert to your primal jock form-”

“Am I interrupting something, boys?” the television asked, Alex’s face appearing on the screen. Pritchard batted Jensen’s hand off his head, looking back to the screen with a huff, cheeks only flushing a little. Jensen, on the other hand, looked wholly entertained by the situation, a smile on his lips. He had a nice smile, too bad it was so rare. And at Pritchard’s expense. 

“Not at all, what’s up?” Jensen asked.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re not in trouble. I’ve been trying to call you all evening,” Alex said, a smile twisting her lips despite a half hearted attempt to look angry. “Why weren’t you answering?”

Pritchard helpfully picked the broken phone up off the coffee table, holding it up for Alex to see. She shook her head.

“Ah. Well, I found Koller. He’s safe, and fine...and when I asked him when he’d be back he sent me this,” an image popped up on the screen of a wild haired, heavily augmented individual with his prosthetic arms draped around two beautiful, scantily clad augmented women doing their tipsy best to make sultry faces at the camera, “and said ‘hopefully never.’ He did apologize for leaving so suddenly though. I guess he was sort of kidnapped? He was a little vague on the details. But he insists he likes where he ended up. Said you were free to ransack his shop for whatever you need.”

“What I need is the neuroplasticity calibrator.”

The screen switched back to Alex’s face. She shook her head. “Didn’t sound like getting that back here was much of an option. It’s probably best to just write him off at this point.”

“Seems like it…”

“Oh, and he told me what he thinks he told you, in the message that got garbled? Sounded like he found the same problems Pritchard did. Said he didn’t think it was anything serious, he seemed surprised no one had managed to figure it out yet. But he didn’t know either since his test ran into the same error. He suggested doing a localized deep scan of your Infolink.”

Jensen sighed, sagging back against the couch. “Well, seems like this has all been a waste of time, sorry Alex.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I was worried about him too…”

With a few goodbyes and good lucks, Alex signed off, and Jensen was flipping back to the baseball game. Pritchard resigned himself to his fate.

“You know, I never was actually a jock,” Jensen said after a bit of silence, watching the game. Pritchard raised a brow, eyeing him. He was wearing a shirt (for once) but his...physique was still very visible. Jensen caught Pritchard’s wandering eye with a smirk.

“I find that hard to believe,” Pritchard grumbled.

Jensen turned back to the game, still looking amused. “I was captain of the debate team though.”

Pritchard snorted, unable to keep the fond smile from twisting his lips. “Nerd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing  
> That Pritchard's a thot


	7. Chapter 7

Jensen plopped down on the couch, bowl of dry cereal in hand. It was weird having so much time off. Weirder still that even two days after getting drugged, sometimes the world felt just a little bit too intense. But at least he was no longer seeing bursts of colors if he looked at too bright a light. And the small lingering effects were rapidly fading. 

Not knowing what happened the night he got drugged was unsettling, but finding out he made it home not too long after getting dosed was reassuring. And he could remember enough vivid flashes to fill in most of the blanks, like the massive overstimulation of the club, vibrating in his brain, or pushing a woman away as she tried to caress his face and kiss him; the sensation made him want to crawl out of his skin far more than usual and for different reasons. The massive overstimulation of everything was just too much to handle. 

The peace and quiet, as well as the feeling of a cold plastic seat against his face as he apparently lay in a dimly lit subway car came as a relief; though sober Jensen was unsettled thinking about how unsanitary that had to have been. Then, less soothing, came the memory of stumbling and landing in a puddle not far from his apartment. 

Then there’s when he finally got home. He could remember the feeling of running his fingers through Pritchard’s hair. He swore he could feel every individual silky strand drawn against his augment; it had been fascinating at the time. He could also remember his hand on Pritchard’s chest, and the feeling of his heart pounding beneath his ribs. Thanks to those glimpses, he didn’t quite believe Pritchard’s insistence that Jensen hadn’t done anything strange. Or perhaps Pritchard’s standards for odd behavior was high. Who could say. Hopefully that was the extent of it. At the very least he didn’t have the impression anything nefarious happened. 

Jensen stared off into space through the blank TV screen, snacking on his cereal, trying to decide what to do with himself. It was the same predicament as the last couple days, even if he was significantly clearer headed. Napping most of the day again probably wasn’t much of an option this time. 

There was no real use following up on the woman who drugged him until they had an answer about his condition. Sure, they could get a head start on the calibrator. But right now? He was a thousand times better than before, but still in no shape for doing anything substantial. If she drugged him like that, who could say what he’d be walking into going to the address. 

He heard a faint rhythmic thrum coming from somewhere, catching him off guard. Out of all the sensory hallucinations he’d had the last couple days, auditory ones were not generally among them. His eyes drifted down to Pritchard’s laptop, spotting his headphones. That explained it. They were plugged in, apparently still playing music. He’d gone off to shower several minutes prior and must have forgotten to turn it off. 

Jensen reached for the headphones, curious what sort of awful techno nonsense the hacker must listen to. Though, as he put the headphones up to his ears he blinked. Was that...vintage gangster rap?

Jensen eyed the headphones before listening again. That really wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

He heard the shower turn off, and hastily put the headphones back down. It seemed Pritchard wasn’t one for long showers. A short while later, he heard damp bare feet slapping up behind him.

“Forgot my damn clothes,” Pritchard grumbled. Jensen glanced to the side of the couch. Sure enough, the hacker’s backpack still lay there, clothes strewn about it in a pile. He glanced up, doing a double take when he spotted Pritchard, giving him a thorough once over that the hacker luckily did not notice. 

Pritchard had nothing but a damp towel wrapped around his slender waist. His wet hair lay messily around his exposed shoulders, clinging to him, occasionally sending stray drips of water trailing down his almost toned chest. Jensen was also surprised to see a tattoo on Pritchard’s upper bicep, where it would be covered by everything but a tank top. It was three small lines of ones and zeros. Binary. He was a little surprised Pritchard had a tattoo, but of course it would be something like that. He couldn’t help but wonder what it meant.

Much to Adam’s surprise he looked...good. Thin, for sure, and pale, but he wasn’t all skin and bones, there was some actual muscle tone there. Not a lot, but enough. Jensen had to wonder if Pritchard actually did a push up or two on occasion. His skin was remarkably smooth, and relatively hairless, except a faint tantalizing trail starting below his belly button, disappearing beneath the towel.

Pritchard paused abruptly, half way through reaching down for his clothes, frozen in place, staring at the cereal bowl. “Seriously? You just eat it dry?”

Jensen shrugged, startled out of his rumination by the incredulous question. “Not always.” He glanced down at the half eaten bowl, giving it a slight shake.

“I again have to question if you’re actually secretly twelve.”

“You know simple carbs are one of the best ways to fuel augs.” 

“Of course. But...seriously? Sugar-Os or, whatever in god’s name...”

Jensen peered into the bowl. “These are Cyber Blast Puffs, actually.”

“My apologies,” Pritchard droned, a hand reaching down to grasp his towel as it started to slip, holding it in place.

Jensen shrugged, holding out the bowl. “Want some?”

Pritchard sighed, and to Jensen’s mild surprise he reached out, plucking a single puff from the bowl with his long fingers, and popped it into his mouth. After a few seconds of chewing he scowled. “Not bad I guess. _Really_ sweet though.”

Again, Jensen shrugged.

Pritchard dusted his fingers off on his towel, before finally reaching down to actually gather up some clothes. “You do realize you’re watching a blank TV, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not _that_ high still.”

“Good. I’d be worried if you were…”

Jensen shook his head. “Go put your clothes on.”

Pritchard rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I should just leave them in the damn bathroom,” he muttered, padding back. Jensen’s gaze followed him at least part way, catching the outline of his firm looking ass through his towel. Jensen reprimanded himself, what the hell was wrong with him? Maybe he really did need to get laid. Then again, he’d had ample opportunity _before_ he got drugged. He was just. Curious. Or something. 

Pritchard finally emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed and a little drier, though his hair was still loose. It looked nice down. He eyed Jensen critically. “How are you doing, anyway?”

“Better. Why?”

“Is there a reason you’re staring at a blank TV?” 

Jensen shook his head. “I’m just relaxing. Is that so wrong?” he explained, popping a few more puffs into his mouth as Pritchard frowned.

He nodded a little hesitantly. “Fair enough…”

The rest of the morning slid into quiet, Pritchard typing away at whatever business he had, leaving Jensen to decide what to do with himself. He went to check his email, frowning as he discovered a message from MacReady.

_“Any update on getting fixed up? I hate to say it but we could really use you for some ops we have coming up._

_“Also got a complaint from the local PD. Seems they’ve cited you for riding the wrong subway car fifteen times in the last two months. It makes us look bad, could you behave?”_

A million things to say passed through Jensen’s mind. About how this would be going faster if Interpol would actually help. Or that they could just let him back on duty and outfit him with an earpiece like the rest of the agents. But that wasn’t the issue, was it? The issue was fear that somehow a busted link would make him lose his mind. And as for the subway...well…

Jensen wrote a one word response: _“No.”_ And sent it off. That about covered all of his bases. 

He spent the rest of the morning in his room, working on a broken watch. It felt like ages since he actually sat down and worked on it. His work bench was just still a mess from the last time he left it. It was relaxing to have something to focus on, with minute precision. The steadiness he’d eventually gained with his augs was made the work immensely satisfying, as he managed to place tiny cogs and pins on the first try.

It was hell when he first got his augs. He had to use plastic cups for fear of dropping them or crushing them. Walking, brushing his teeth or even wiping his own goddamn ass was a monumental struggle and feat of concentration. But now they were as natural as his old organic limbs. Some days he could barely even remember what having flesh and bone hands felt like. Sometimes he doubted he’d even want his old limbs back, if it were possible. 

As frightening as the glitches were, and how badly they threw him off balance, and how much he resented Sarif and everyone else involved in making him into what he was now...He had pride in who, in _what_ he was, and wasn’t about to let anyone take that away from him. The people who wanted him and other augs to become “natural” again were just as bad as the people who changed him. Everyone wanted to control him, control his body so damn badly. But no one could have a say in who or what he was.

A few hours later he closed the watch he’d been working on, flipped it over and- nothing. Still wasn’t working. He frowned down at the piece, wondering where he’d gone wrong. However, the sound of his front door opening and closing repeatedly, along with distressed sounding mechanical screeches coming from his keypad, distracted him from popping it back open. 

He found Pritchard standing outside with his laptop balanced on one hand, cords plugged into the keypad. Jensen didn’t even have to ask before Pritchard offered his explanation.

“I’m upgrading your security,” he said.

“Okay…Right now?”

Pritchard shrugged. “Felt like taking a break.”

“Upgrading security on my door is your idea of taking a break?” Jensen asked.

“...Yes?”

“Carry on then, I guess,” Jensen said, leaning on the doorway, absentmindedly watching.

“It’s hard to work with you looming like that,” Pritchard muttered, the lock making a few more distressed sounding chirps.

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Jensen said.

The fresh air was pleasant, even if the air in the aug slums of Prague wasn’t usually the freshest. Maybe he was still a little bit high. Just standing there enjoying the faint breeze as Pritchard made his door lock very angry was...nice.

Finally, the lock let out a final, happier beep, and Pritchard unplugged his laptop.

“I’m hungry, are you hungry?” Jensen asked, Pritchard glanced up, almost looking startled.

“Yes, I suppose I worked through lunch. You decide you need to eat something other than children’s cereal?” Pritchard asked, brushing past Jensen as he headed inside. At least this time he looked much less alarmed at the prospect of lunch. He was a strange man sometimes… or rather frequently. 

The trip for lunch was much less awful this time. They managed to not piss off a single cop, and bystanders kept their comments to themselves. Despite this, Pritchard still looked on edge. He seemed to be having an extraordinarily difficult time adjusting to the atmosphere in Prague. Or perhaps it was the atmosphere in Prague combined with being around someone so visibly augmented in public. Jensen could only assume Pritchard’s experiences dealing with prejudice were different. Even after all their time working together, and now cohabitating, Jensen had only glimpsed the ports on the back of Pritchard’s head a couple times. 

He wondered if Pritchard hid them intentionally, or if it just came with the fashion choice of having long hair. Both looks made potential statements. And the hacker just wasn’t punk enough to pull off long hair and an undercut. He’d probably just look like a jackass. 

Or maybe the hair wasn’t a fashion decision at all. Maybe he just didn’t bother cutting it.

That was probably the real answer.

The restaurant they stopped at was almost completely empty. Too late for the lunch rush, too early for dinner. It made for an almost completely private dining experience when the waitress led them to a booth, the music drifting through the restaurant's speakers drowning out the conversation of the only other people present.

It was dark in the restaurant, with a vintage feel, with colorfully shaded lamps styled out of the 1970s casting a dim, warm glow over the dark wood of the booths. It was pleasant and cozy, but Pritchard was still anxious from their trip.

“I still don’t see how it can be worth it to live here,” Pritchard said as they sat, eyeing a police officer out the window.

“I told you, it’s part of my job. It seems strange coming from you, since you _voluntarily_ live in Detroit.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“Well, for one, the government isn’t targeting us. Or at least not so...overtly. And...I don’t know. It’s my home. I have friends there.”

“You have _friends?_ ”

“Of _course_ I have _friends!_ I resent the implication-” Pritchard stopped in his indignant rant at the skeptical look Jensen gave him. “What- Okay, I have a broad... contact network there. And _a_ good friend.”

“Let me guess, that Artemis person?”

Pritchard sighed. “Yes, her…” Pritchard muttered, almost sounding resigned, taking a sip of his water.

“Is she your girlfriend or something?”

Pritchard nearly spat out his drink, and settled for merely choking on it instead, his face growing red as he coughed. “ _What?_ No!”

Jensen leaned back, surprised by the reaction. “Sorry, I just assumed...since she knows where your hideout is. And if you’re so attached…Is it really _that_ strange of an assumption?” Jensen asked as Pritchard gave him what could only be a look of total disgust.

Pritchard took a deep breath once he was finally able to breathe again. He started ticking off reasons on his fingers. “One, she’s like a sister. Two, she’s _really gay._ Three, _I’m_ really gay…”

Jensen blinked. “You are?” 

“Yes? You didn’t know?” Pritchard asked. 

Jensen leaned back in his seat, frowning faintly. “Sorry, I guess not.” They’d worked together for long enough, it seemed like something he _should_ have picked up on by now, it was true. It wasn’t so much surprising to find out Pritchard was gay as it was surprising to realize that Jensen simply had no idea. 

“Seriously? I didn’t exactly try to hide it. You must have the _worst_ gaydar.”

Jensen nodded slowly, pensively. “Yeah. I guess Sarif didn’t decide to equip me with that upgrade…”

Pritchard wheezed, nearly choking on his water again. Jensen smirked. 

“In my defense, you never talk about your personal life.” Jensen said, thinking back, chewing on his lip. Yeah, no, their respective romantic lives really were not topics that ever surfaced, other than Pritchard giving him shit for his relationship with Megan. “I guess I really misread a few things…” he muttered half to himself.

“Like what?” Pritchard asked suspiciously, leaning over the table, eyes narrow.

“I thought part of the reason you were such a prick because you were jealous I was dating Megan.”

Pritchard stared at him, then let out a cold laugh. “Oh _god_ no.”

“Well obviously I get that _now._ ”

“I’d really hope, even if I was into women, that I’d have better taste. No offense.”

“None taken. I think having your ex be partly responsible for your limbs being harvested probably tops the list of worst relationship outcomes…”

Pritchard let out a loud laugh, then slapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry. That’s not funny,” he said, growing red as he worked to suppress more snickers.

Jensen smiled despite himself, shaking his head. It really was a little absurd, after all. “So wait. If I was wrong about Megan, why did you hate me so much when I started working at Sarif Industries?”

Pritchard raised a brow. “Seriously? You have to ask? Because you were a cop!”

“Yeah? So?”

“So, I hate cops. When the bastards came to arrest me they trashed the place and broke my nose! Then tried to charge _me_ with assaulting an officer and resisting arrest! I was just sitting there!”

“I thought you got charged with fraud.”

“I did! We got them to drop several of the charges. Bastards tried to use it as leverage for a plea bargain,” Pritchard grumbled bitterly. Jensen shook his head. Sadly, he couldn’t say he was surprised.

As the conversation faded, Jensen realized something. Pritchard’s reaction to his earlier joke was wrong, other than being wholly inappropriate. If anything, Pritchard should have been confused or shocked by the notion of Megan being any way responsible for Adam’s dismemberment. The laugh indicated the notion of Jensen being “harvested” wasn’t news. He never suspected Pritchard of being complicit in what happened to him. But the question remained. 

“How much did you know about...what happened?” Jensen asked, a little hesitantly. As much as he wanted to trust Pritchard, Jensen’s intuition on who to trust had proven dreadfully wrong before…He couldn’t help but monitor Pritchard’s reaction with a critical and augmented eye. The full extent of his CASIE’s abilities disabled momentarily thanks to the glitches, but he could still use it to help monitor for tells, he just had to figure out what they meant for himself.

“What happened?”

“When I got augmented.”

Pritchard sighed, sagging. “When it all happened I knew about as much as anyone else. You’d been hurt, Sarif patched you up, but any idiot could see he probably went overboard. How on earth would you be injured so...symmetrically? If nothing else,” Pritchard said, gesturing to Jensen. “I…” he trailed off, gathering his thoughts, Jensen knit his brows, still watching. He seemed to be truthful, but reluctant. He was holding back.

“You what?” Jensen prompted, when the hacker failed to finish his thought after a long moment. 

Pritchard glanced around and leaned forward. “So, did you ever notice how Sarif had a habit of hiring people he could control? Or thought he could leverage at least.”

Jensen raised a brow. “I guess not.”

“So, I had a criminal record, right? If I bombed out of my job at Sarif industries I’d be done for working legit pretty much ever again. And you? With your weird, dodgy SWAT history? We weren’t the only employees who’d have a hard time finding work out of there if he fired us.”

Jensen frowned. “I’m not really eager to jump to Sarif’s defense, but doesn’t that sound like a good thing? Giving people a chance who might not have a great shot elsewhere?”

“I thought so too, at first. It fit with his whole wanting to revitalize Detroit thing too. It wasn’t really a nice place to set up shop, even if the buildings were cheap. The guy doesn’t seem malicious, I’m not even sure he was consciously doing it. Or maybe he was. I don’t know. 

“But a few times...he asked me to do some pretty sketchy things, probably because he knew I couldn’t really say no and risk getting fired. I mean who would people believe? The ex con hacker or the charming successful CEO? And what he did to you? You were, you _are_ half Sarif Industries tech! Hell, if Sarif Industries hadn’t collapsed and you were still there? It’s guaranteed they’d have you fixed up by now. And probably for free. It would have been a hell of an incentive to stay.”

Pritchard sighed, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t think he’s evil or anything. It’s just hard to tell with him where the philanthropy ends and the self-serving creep begins.”

Now _that_ Jensen could agree with. But Pritchard was still dancing around something. “True. But...you laughed when I mentioned being harvested-”

“S-sorry-”

Jensen waved away the apology. “I don’t remember telling you about that.”

“O-oh! Oh…” Pritchard frowned, his eyes growing distant, seemingly cataloging his thoughts. “I suppose not.”

“What do you know about it?” Jensen pushed. Pritchard cringed.

“I-I saw your medical file,” Pritchard started, Jensen narrowed his eyes, why on earth had Pritchard been snooping in his medical records? The hacker backpedaled, seeing the look. “It was after you were declared dead!” he exclaimed, as if that explained everything. 

“Pritchard,” Jensen grumbled, his voice more of a growl than usual. The hacker was nervous, slightly pale, clammy, heart rate spiking. What the hell did he know? What wasn’t he telling him? “Start from the beginning.”

Pritchard was momentarily saved by the waitress, arriving with their food. He thanked her, while Jensen kept his eyes on the hacker, his plate all but ignored. Once the waitress was gone, Pritchard took a steadying breath.

“It’s all started above board, I swear. I really thought you were dead. I didn’t mean to go nosing around in your life it just… You remember Michelle Walthers, right?”

Jensen raised a brow. That wasn’t a direction he expected this to go. “Of course. I couldn’t find her after I got back. I assumed she was a victim of the Incident or something.”

“I guess I did a good job hiding her then. And she’s quite alive. In a nice little retirement care facility outside of Detroit. Her expenses are being paid through a trust I set up with your life insurance payout using a few shell identities. The payout was still in Dr. Reed’s name so I changed it, I assumed that was an oversight, I hope you don’t mind,” Pritchard explained. Jensen winced, that was definitely an oversight. 

“Yeah, that was a good call.”

Pritchard nodded. “I’ve visited her a few times. She’s a sweet lady…” Pritchard said, poking at his salad. “She thinks I’m one of her nephews.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “The insurance stopped payouts after you showed up alive, but I think there’s still enough for her saved up to live out her remaining years there. Her health hasn’t been great lately...”

Jensen stared, at a loss. 

“Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner it just. I don’t know. You never asked. It seems everything’s always happening and honestly bringing it up just slipped my mind. But after you...disappeared, I realized I still technically had that security detail assigned to her. I had to figure out what to do with her and I had _no_ idea why you wanted her protected. So I started digging into it. I suppose you can imagine what I found,” Pritchard said, avoiding eye contact, continuing to just push salad greens around with his fork. 

“I can give you the file I collected if you want. I think I still have a backup somewhere. I doubt it’s anything new to you though. I-I just didn’t want to get involved. It’s the kind of stuff that once they know you know… I can’t blame you for being obsessed with...whatever happened. But if I were you, I’d be erasing my identity and hiding under the biggest rock I could find, not trying to hunt them...” Pritchard trailed off.

“It’s the only way to keep it from happening to someone else,” Jensen said, his voice low. Pritchard huffed a humorless laugh.

“If you’re delusional enough to think you can go toe to toe with them, be my guest. But you’re _going_ to get yourself _killed_.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the Illuminati,” Jensen hissed, his voice low. 

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe that some very powerful people are playing games with you, and me, and everyone and yes probably the whole world. But that’s just how it works! The world isn’t controlled by politicians it’s ruled by the powerful. We know who they are, they publish lists of the top wealthiest people in the world regularly,” Pritchard scoffed. “There’s nothing to expose, they’re already out in the open, and there’s nothing you or I could possibly do to stop them.”

Jensen leaned back in his seat, genuinely surprised. Pritchard huffed, finally stuffing a forkful of his salad into his mouth.

“Here I thought you were being naive about it. Turns out you’re twice as cynical as I am.”

“It would be nice if there was some shadow council we could just expose and stop and then everything would turn up rainbows, but that’s just not how the world works. It’s just a shitty ride and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It’s best to just keep your head down and watch out for yourself.”

Jensen sighed, shaking his head. That sounded about right for Pritchard. And at least he found out what Pritchard knew. He’d seen no indication the hacker was lying. 

“...I still can’t believe you ordered a salad.”

Pritchard did a double take, startled at the sudden turn in the conversation. “What? It sounded good! Just because I don’t have the palette of a small child--”

“No wonder you’re so skinny…” Jensen mused. 

“Honestly? I think that’s more because I forget to eat...all the time,” Pritchard confessed.

With that, the conversation drifted back into safer territory, peppered with plenty of jabs at each other and their terrible eating habits.

Soon enough they finished their meals, and headed out just in time for the dinner crowd to start slowly trickling in. On their way back to the apartment, as they walked past the liquor store, Jensen remembered he was out of his favorite whisky. Though, just as he announced his intent to pick some up, and turned to head in, he was shocked to feel Pritchard grab his arm. 

He turned to the hacker, eyebrow raised. Pritchard had almost a pleading look on his face.

“Adam...come on…” he said. Jensen managed not to wince. It had to be serious if Pritchard was using his first name. “I can’t just let you...you have to stop drinking.”

Jensen frowned, he knew this was coming. He even agreed, to an extent. He was just in such a habit it hadn’t even occurred to him until Pritchard stopped him. Having a glass or two, or more, before bed was just what he did. He half consciously chewed his lip.

“You know I still have more back at the apartment,” Jensen pointed out. Pritchard scowled.

“I know. But you don’t have to add to it. I’m this close to pouring it all out when you sleep, if I thought it would get me anywhere,” Pritchard muttered, it seemed obvious he had no intention of budging. 

“Why do you give a shit?” Jensen snapped, yanking his arm out of Pritchard’s grip, annoyance suddenly flaring in him. Where did Pritchard get off on this anyway? Yes, the other night had been...bad. Alcohol was a major part of it, but it was also extenuating circumstances. He just needed to be more careful. It wasn’t Pritchard’s place to dictate what Jensen did with his life, whether it was hunting the Illuminati or drinking as much as he damn well needed.

“Because you called me out here to help you-”

“With my Infolink problem, not my-”

“Drinking problem?” Pritchard looked so damn smug Jensen wanted to wring his little pencil neck. “For all we know the problems could be related,” he pointed out. 

“How the hell could drinking and a broken chip in my skull be related?”

“I don’t know. Excessive alcohol in your bloodstream coming in contact with your input diodes and somehow corroding the contacts and compromising the chip? It’s not likely but it’s not impossible.”

Jensen clenched his jaw. It was annoying that Pritchard was trying to tell him what to do and possibly _more_ annoying that he had a point. 

“And it’s not just that. Look, I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life but could you just...try? For a while? I thought after the other night you would understand…”

Jensen was about to bite back a response when he noticed a passerby muttering “couples’ drama.” He scowled. He didn’t want to be having this conversation here. Or now. Or ever. 

“It’s none of your business-” Jensen growled through gritted teeth. 

“I just explained to you why it is.”

“Just because you can make up some half assed excuse doesn’t mean you have any place sticking your nose in my life,” Jensen snapped. 

Why did he feel like he’d just been hit by a bus? He knew this exact conversation was coming from the day Pritchard showed up unannounced and found him passed out on the couch. He’d been waiting for it, though he supposed, he never really prepared for it. Of course it came up when he was sick- but that didn’t count. Anyone could confess they had made a mistake while clutching their toilet.

He hated everything about this conversation. He felt like he was drowning. Part of him knew Pritchard was right, and that only made him want to punch the hacker even more. Pritchard wasn’t supposed to be right about Jensen’s life. He was a smug little shit who was occasionally be right about technology.

It was strange, he felt out of control, his thoughts spiraling, standing there useless in the street. He had to regain control of the situation, the conversation, of _something._ He had to diffuse whatever the hell was going on here, in his head, in everything. 

“Look. I know. You’re right. Ultimately, it’s your life, and your choice. But for now I am involved. What can I do to get you to agree to stop?”

Jensen blinked, caught off guard. “What can _you_ do?”

“Yes. I’m the one asking you to do something. It seems only reasonable to ask what I could do for you in exchange,” Pritchard said, sounding matter of a fact. 

Jensen was completely thrown by the suggestion. He expected the conversation to go along the lines of Pritchard demanding he stop and reminding him of the myriad of health reasons why and guilting him for developing such a destructive habit and shaming him for letting it get out of hand. Hell, he’d expect the conversation to go like that with _anyone_ , and _particularly_ Pritchard, considering how smug and condescending he could be. 

What the hell was this? Bartering for something pretty much anyone would agree Jensen should do anyway? Without the need to try and defend himself against whatever shaming or guilt trips Pritchard had prepared, the faint panic that had been twisting its way into his body started to subside. As absurd as the suggestion was, there was a certain logic to it. And he had the opportunity to get Pritchard to do pretty much whatever he wanted.

Why the hell did this make sense? Jensen shook his head, his anxious energy slowly draining away. 

“Fine. But two conditions.”

“Which are?” Pritchard asked, looking a little surprised.

“One, _you_ give up caffeine-”

“What? Why?!”

“Because if I’m going to be miserable, I want you to be miserable.”

Pritchard groaned. “Fine...”

“And two,” Jensen interrupted. “It starts after tonight. One last night, fair? You can help me thin out what I have back at the apartment.”

“The whole one more night thing never works, Jensen,” Pritchard muttered.

“Those are my conditions. I swear. Just think of it as a team building exercise,” Jensen said, plopping a hand down on Pritchard’s shoulder. The hacker jumped like he expected to get punched. “Remember, when you have to do something hard, it’s best to work as a team, so you’ll all be in it together…” Jensen said in an obnoxious cadence they both knew, causing Pritchard to groan loudly, pulling on his hair.

It felt like a lifetime ago now. Someone in the human resources department at Sarif Industries decided they needed to bring in a team building expert. Jensen had to attend her workshop because, as head of security, he was in a management position, and in fact had to work in groups and direct teams. Pritchard had to attend because he was a huge dick. The HR department thought he could learn some things about working with his colleagues instead of antagonizing them.

Unfortunately, the person they hired to put on the seminar turned out to quite possibly be the most annoying human alive. She treated them all like school children and chanted her almost sing-song slogans with so much pep people sincerely questioned if she was on something afterwards. The seminar was useless, but in a sense, she succeeded in team building better than she ever could have imagined: Everyone forced to sit through her insane blathering had a new sense of comradery, as they made fun of the entire thing for a solid year afterwards, much to the chagrin of HR.

“So after tonight. You swear you’ll stop?” Pritchard asked hesitantly.

“If you give up caffeine, yes.”

Pritchard glared at him, then sagged. “Fine! Fine. Whatever,” Pritchard said, turning and beginning to walk towards the apartment.

“Have you ever had absinthe, Pritchard?”

“I can’t say I have.”

* * *

“You goddamn piece of shit! I swear to CHRIST so help me- Just give it to me! Do it! NO DAMNIT NOT ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE FUCKING STUPID- A long one, give me a long one you piece of shit. SO HELP ME. FUCK. FUCK YOU ADAM YOU RAT FUCKING BASTARD-”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Francis.”

“Oh, I’m not losing, we’ve only JUST begun- FUCK!” 

As it turned out, two admittedly oversized shots of absinthe were all it took to get Pritchard drunk. And drunk Pritchard was apparently completely foul mouthed and lacking in all sense of volume control. He was also losing at Battle Tetris. He’d built up a large wall of blocks waiting for not one, but two long, thin pieces the game was determined not to give him. At least not when the path was cleared from Jensen’s dump pieces.

With nothing entertaining on the TV, they’d decided on the video game to pass the time. Pritchard, unsurprisingly, had much more practice on the game, but he figured between being drunk and Jensen’s enhancements, they’d be a fair battle. The fact that Jensen was _winning_ was not sitting well with him.

At first Pritchard seemed determined to stay relatively sober, and keep Jensen from drinking too much. But he forgot that it still took quite a lot to mess Jensen up, drinking problem or no, and absinthe packed one hell of a punch. Not to mention the man seemed to be a bit of a lightweight. 

He glanced at Pritchard’s half of the screen as the man broke into maniacal cackling. The game finally fed him a long piece, and a second long piece waiting in his preview box.

“Now your ass is MINE!” Pritchard exclaimed, moments before the television suddenly fuzzed out, the game disappearing, Alex’s face replacing it.

Pritchard jumped, the controller jolting clean from his hand and nearly knocking over the bottle of absinthe they’d been working on. The hacker yelled a startled “FUCK!” followed by an agonized yell as he realized his potential victory had been summarily yanked from his fingers by Alex’s sudden appearance. He tipped to his side with a melodramatic sob, covering his face, while Jensen nearly doubled over from laughter. 

Alex’s eyebrows shot up at the scene, her initially grim face growing a smile. “Jeeze, Adam, you really need a new phone. Seems I’m always interrupting.” 

“No, you’re fine…” Jensen managed to wheeze, as Pritchard slid limply off the couch. 

“Hi again, Frank. Do you just...live there now?”

“I guess?” Pritchard’s miserable voice drifted up from the floor.

“You know, the offer still stands if you want to join the Collective,” Alex said.

Pritchard’s hand reached up from the depths behind the coffee table, middle finger extended. “And Janus is still free to go fuck himself.”

Jensen frowned, especially in light of their earlier conversation. “I don’t get why you hate the Collective so much-”

“He knows what he did,” Pritchard said, a note of finality in his voice that would sound very serious if he weren’t currently laying on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, drunk and defeated at Tetris.

“Well. Any good news on the aug repair yet?” Alex asked, Jensen shook his head. “Damn. Well I hate to ruin the mood but we need you for something. He doesn’t think it can wait…You have time to meet up? We can go over the details.”

Jensen nodded. “As long as the mission doesn’t need some of my more extreme capabilities, it should be fine.”

“That’s what I thought. And trust me this shouldn’t need them. Meet me in thirty at the old clinic?”

“Alright.”

With that the TV flickered back to Tetris, the screen showing Jensen as the victor. He leaned over, nudging Pritchard with his foot, the hacker still laying on the ground.

“You okay down there?”

Pritchard grunted, before slowly flailing his way up, dragging himself onto the couch, looking even more like a lanky tangle of limbs than usual. His movements were so loose he looked like a bundle of sticks loosely held together with silly putty. Though as he sagged against the couch, his head hanging limply over the back, his eyes half sliding shut, the long expanse of his neck struck Jensen as almost graceful. He wasn’t wearing a turtleneck for once. His hair was falling out of his ponytail, stray strands cascading over his face and shoulders. Jensen had the sudden urge to brush his fingers along Pritchard’s cheek, pushing his hair behind his ears. He shook the thought away as quickly as it came.

“Are you really sober enough to meet her?” Pritchard grumbled.

“Yeah. I’m barely buzzed, this will all be gone in thirty minutes easy,” Jensen said, turning the TV back to actual programming, Eliza’s face greeting them with the latest gloomy news of the evening.

Pritchard nodded a little limply. “This is it though, right? You’re gonna stop drinking now?”

Jensen sighed. “Yeah, yeah…”

“It’s just. You know how important it is, right? I mean, getting drugged aside. You- if you overload your system and- y’know they call it _blood_ alcohol content for a reason, right? And you don’t have much blood left, it’s, it’d be really easy for you to overdose and die if you tripped up your system. Right? We almost lost you twice now. Shit, more than that, ‘n the bastards haven’t killed you yet. It’d be really fuckin’ stupid to have you go and kill yourself,” Pritchard said, grabbing Jensen’s hand for emphasis.

Pritchard’s hands were beautiful, soft and somehow refined, with those long slender fingers. They seemed like they should be playing a piano or a violin, and here they were clutching Jensen’s black, carefully crafted augment. It was almost complimentary in a way, the pale contrast of Pritchard’s skin against the unnatural dark finish. Then suddenly it struck him- he didn’t want to pull away. Usually contact like this, even a handshake, subjecting someone his augmented body made him want to recoil. But not now, not this time.

They seemed to be frozen in the moment, before all at once it passed, Pritchard releasing Jensen’s hand, rubbing his bloodshot eyes instead. “I should sleep this off.”

“Probably. I need to head out soon anyway. Goodnight, Pritchard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0110011001110101011000110110101100100000  
> 0111010001101000011001010010000001110000  
> 0110111101101100011010010110001101100101


	8. Chapter 8

Despite being relatively late in the evening, the streets were fairly busy. Jensen kept an eye out for a tail as he made his way to the abandoned LIMB clinic. It felt good to get out of the apartment and actually _do_ something. The last week and a half felt like nothing but milling around and being useless. 

Alex greeted him when he entered. She waved with a smile. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt your game night. I didn’t know Frank was capable of being so animated.”

“He was a little drunk. And it’s fine, trust me. I’m glad to get out.”

“Yeah? Here I was just thinking it must be nice to get to actually chill. Right?”

Jensen shook his head. “I’m just wasting time being out of commission like this.”

“If you insist. But I gotta say, it’s good to see you smile for once,” Alex said with a smile of her own. “You should consider doing it a bit more often.”

Jensen folded his arms, giving her a deadpan stare. “What. Are you saying I’d be prettier if I smiled more?”

Alex snorted a laugh. “God, no. I’m just saying maybe a vacation is good for you. Get you to relax a little.”

“You sound like MacReady.”

“Man, don’t even joke about that…” Alex said, visibly sagging. Jensen cracked a smirk, unable to keep a straight face at her reaction.

“So, what’s the mission?” Jensen asked.

“Don’t be too disappointed, it’s actually pretty small. But important. We need a file out of TF29. A medical record, to be exact, for your newest agent. Genevieve Edwards.”

Jensen raised a brow. Yeah, he was pretty disappointed. Waltzing into TF29 and out with a medical file was barely a mission. It was more like a mildly inconvenient walk across town. “Why do you need the file?”

“He didn’t really specify. I think she was involved in some weird biotech black-op project with VersaLife, I suspect that has something to do with it.”

Jensen shook his head. “Does that mean I should expect better security on her file?”

“Not that I know of? Think you can handle it? Being on leave and all...” she leaned back, raising her hands defensively at the glare Jensen gave her. “Hey, man, I don’t know if they deactivated your card or anything.”

“No, I can still get in and out just fine. Medical’s been on my case to pick up my supply of Neuropozyne again, I guess it’s time I finally swing by. Pritchard mentioned he needs some too.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and one other thing. Got you this,” Alex said, pulling out a phone and handing it over. “Till you get fixed up. And maybe after. This thing is about as secure as they come. Might come in handy.”

Jensen nodded, pocketing it, appreciative. He knew getting everything for his repairs wasn’t going to be cheap, if they ever found a source. And especially after getting his wallet stolen combined with the overall expensive night, he was a little tight on cash for a replacement...

After making arrangements for the drop off, they parted ways, Jensen again heading out into the cold night air. It was a little late to be showing up at the office, but not _so_ late as to be suspicious. Swinging by for something he forgot after an evening on the town seemed like a perfectly plausible cover for his presence. Even if he didn’t need Neuropozyne...no one seemed to believe him when he told them so. And having a reason to stop by provided some cover if anything went amiss was important, it’s not like he could get in or out of the place undetected.

The trip there was thankfully painless. Though he did have something of a sinking feeling as the elevator traveled down to the office. He was thankful to be stopping by so late. After leaving on such a sour note, there were a number of people he didn’t particularly want to encounter. The agent who nearly pulled a gun on him was top among them. Or Aria. He felt terrible being forced to abandon her as soon as she finally got to go out into the field again. Her obvious crush on him notwithstanding, they had something of a defacto bond, being the only augs in the building. He admired how well she seemed to handle all the bullshit thrown her way. Jensen probably would have bitten someone’s head off if he was in her place.

Thinking of Aria tripped him up for a second. With all of his... concerns about his personal life lately, it was odd he’d never really considered asking her out. She was nice, cute, and apparently a crack shot. He was also pretty sure she wasn’t compromised, though who could really say. She was obviously into him too. But he supposed she just wasn’t his type. Too much of a jock. He tended to go for the more...brainy types. 

He supposed Peter fit that description a bit better. He was cute, if a bit young. The guy was, however, so high strung he made Pritchard look positively zen by comparison. Sure, his paranoia was largely founded, but it was a pain to deal with. Still, either would probably be fun to at least have drinks with, if not a romantic relationship. 

Not to mention how poorly his last interoffice romance went. 

The building was blessedly quiet when the elevator doors opened. There were, of course, still people milling about; the place did run twenty-four hours a day. But with no disasters lately, it was just the regular night shift skeleton crew. Hardly a soul even bothered to look up. Yeah, this would barely count as a mission.

Jensen headed for the medical lab, fully expecting to need to keep quiet, maybe even hack a lock in the dark to keep from waking any patients, but the place was empty. He used his key card to access where they stored the Neuropozyne, and signed out his dose. He turned the bottle over in his hand a few times, examining it. Maybe he should be better about picking his up and play along. The drug was better than money in the city sometimes. It never hurt to have more on hand. 

He quickly hacked the medical database, and had the file downloaded in under five minutes. The whole thing was so anticlimactic he decided to go check on his work email, just to kill time. 

So much for a mission. 

On the way to the drop off, Jensen looked over the file just out of his own curiosity, but couldn’t make heads or tails of what was supposed to be so important. Just a bunch of medical jargon, nothing obvious to him at least. 

Jensen half wished someone was following him on his way to the drop off. Maybe if he had to shake someone, that would be more entertaining? A small voice in the back of his mind very rationally reminded him that it was in fact a very _good_ thing that it went so smoothly. He was just going stir crazy after so much time off. He craved a challenge other than Battle Tetris… Or Pritchard testing his patience.

Well, at least tomorrow Pritchard would be able to run his second diagnostic, and maybe they’d get answers. 

He still hadn’t decided if he wanted to do the full scan or the localized. He was leaning towards full. In the end, he suspected nothing especially suspicious happened in those missing hours. But it felt safer to be sure. Not that he relished the thought of enduring yet another scan. Though a small, strange part of him was almost eager. Craving the chill that ran through his body the last time. He shook the notion away. It was unlikely, and even if it wasn’t, why would he want that happening again? It was humiliating enough the first time, both the event and everything that came after.

It was annoying that after so many misadventures in the Red Light District he still had this ridiculous craving. It seemed like a sure sign that he needed to get back to work. With nothing to focus on, he was clearly losing his mind.

The file delivered, and the mission over, Jensen headed back to his apartment, not even two hours after he left. With how depressingly anticlimactic his so called mission was, he hesitated when he walked past the bar near his apartment. A night cap sounded nice, to get his head off of... Well. Everything. Or his lack of things. He had told Pritchard he’d stop but...the man was probably asleep by now. And what difference did one or two more drinks make for the evening anyway?

* * *

Jensen woke with a start, a sudden shock of cold and wet washing over his face. He bolted upright in bed, flailing and sputtering, wiping ice cold water from his face.

“Wakey, wakey asshole,” Pritchard snapped, looming over him, a now empty water glass in hand. 

“What the _fuck,_ Pritchard!” Jensen snapped, shaking water from his hand and wiping more from his face. It was all over his pillow, and blankets as well. 

“I seem to remember _someone_ promising not to drink anymore. Jensen. I, on the other hand, have been true to my word, and haven’t had my coffee,” Pritchard grumbled.

“Who says I was drinking?”

“Oh, don’t bother lying, do you think I’m an idiot?” 

Jensen glared, standing suddenly, coming chest to chest with the hacker who stubbornly did not move, standing firm fixed in his death glare. Jensen was a little surprised, and maybe even a little impressed; he fully expected Pritchard to back down at least a little, but he didn’t budge. They were close enough in height, Jensen couldn’t effectively loom, and he had the feeling that being wet and in nothing but boxers put Jensen at a distinct disadvantage for this stare down. 

“Care to explain yourself?” Pritchard murmured, venom in his voice. Much to Jensen’s own surprise the tone actually hurt a little. Pritchard was right, Jensen had no excuse. He’d given his word, and thoughtlessly broken it. What was supposed to be just a nightcap turned into more drinks than he could rightly recall, and dragging himself back home close to one in the morning, the world spinning around him. 

He wanted to be mad at Pritchard, for making him promise, for sticking his nose in his business, for _dumping water on his face,_ but he felt mad at himself.

He sighed, sagging a little. “Fine, you win, I only meant to have one or two to unwind after the mission. I guess it didn’t really go that way...” Jensen confessed. 

Pritchard finally backed off a step with a sigh. “See? This is why the ‘one last drink’ thing never works. It’s never just one.” He shook his head, finally turning, heading for the door, waving vaguely in Jensen’s direction with the empty glass. “Go get dressed. I made breakfast...you’re probably going to want something in your stomach for the diagnostic,” he muttered, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

Right. The diagnostic.

Jensen took a steadying breath and set about getting dressed and drying off. When he finally out into the living room, he could smell bacon and the sweet aroma of something baking. It seemed Pritchard was putting their excessive downtime the last few days to good use cooking. He’d made breakfast all but one day, as well as lunch and dinner on a couple occasions. And Jensen wasn’t about to complain; he was a surprisingly good cook. The kitchen also now contained more food aside from cereal than it had in months.

Admittedly, while highly processed foods and carbs were useful to his augs...the situation probably wouldn’t look a whole lot different if Jensen didn’t have them. But he’d be forced to at least put more effort in. 

Jensen sat down on a stool across the counter, and Pritchard wordlessly slid him a scone and a few strips of bacon. It looked good, and smelled even better. 

“Thanks,” Jensen muttered, trying not to sound too sheepish. 

“Seriously, Adam, you have a problem,” Pritchard said, sounding far gentler than he had before, the frustration and anger drifting into resignation.

Jensen sighed, despite himself. “I’ve been drinking more than usual, I’ll admit. I just...It’s weird being out of commission, I guess.”

“So when you’re too busy to drink you don’t drink. But when you have time to yourself, you do. Sounds healthy,” Pritchard sneered.

“I don’t need your sarcasm right now, _Francis,_ ” Jensen hissed. To his surprise, Pritchard seemed to sag a little, his eyes drifting to the counter.

“Sorry… Did you decide if you want to do the full scan or just the deep scan of your Infolink and other cranial processors? Both can be done at once, but it will take a little longer. It might also be an even more unpleasant experience than average,” Pritchard asked, changing the topic. 

“It’s probably best to check everything,” Jensen said a little hesitantly. He did not savor the idea, but he’d developed something of a reasonable paranoia about these sorts of things.

“I would really recommend sedatives…”

Jensen shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“What is this, some form of self-flagellation?” Pritchard rolled his eyes, sounding exasperated, Jensen raised a brow, eyeing him, his mouth full of bacon. Pritchard sighed. “You don’t have to knock yourself out, just something to relax.”

“That’s usually what the alcohol's for,” Jensen pointed out. He’d had more than his fair share of experience with pills. He’d never developed a full on habit, but he’d gotten close enough dealing with injuries to be weary. At least his health systems purged alcohol readily. They were specifically designed, however, to let certain medications linger, so they could do their jobs. 

Pritchard’s mouth snapped shut, his teeth visibly grinding for a moment before he sagged. “Fine. Fair. Just...don’t say I didn’t warn you. But hopefully after this diagnostic we’ll have something definitive and can finally get you fixed up, and I’ll be able to get out of your hair. Let you get back to your weird loner thing.”

Jensen frowned faintly. Of course Pritchard would be leaving as soon as they were done. That should be a good thing, why did it spark a glimmer of sadness in the back of his mind? 

“Have you figured out where you’re going yet?” Jensen asked. He knew the hacker still didn’t have the identity of the person who’d wrecked his hideout. It was making him paranoid about relying on any of his other regular backups. 

“...No, not really…” Pritchard sighed. “I’ll think of something.”

“Well, you can stay here as long as you need. It’s...the least I can do,” Jensen murmured, half surprised at himself for offering.

“Thanks…” Pritchard said, looking relieved, before his usual smug douchebag glint returned to his eye. “But don’t think this counts as the favor you owe me,” he said.

Jensen snorted. “Yeah, yeah…”

After they finished breakfast, Jensen once again settled in on the couch for yet another diagnostic. He almost felt like he should be used to them by now, but instead it was the opposite. He almost dreaded it more now having undergone so many so recently. Even if that weird little voice in his head was almost looking forward to it. The mix of emotions almost made him nauseous before it even started. That and the faintest scraps of a hangover.

As per usual, it started with the port in his forehead, radiating the unpleasant pulses throughout his body. 

Once the pulses reached his toes, Pritchard moved to plug in the rear cranial port. He had an easier time finding it than previously, and while his probing fingers were pleasant, they didn’t send shivers down his spine or make his eyes roll back the way they had the first time. Jensen tried not to feel too disappointed. It should be reassuring, it was just an effect of the diagnostic playing games with his nervous system. Nothing more. 

He winced at the icy stab as the plug nestled into his skull. That part never changed.

“I’m going to start the deep scan now. This is about to get even more uncomfortable,” Pritchard warned, before a new unpleasantness entered the mix. The cold seemed to spread from the rear port, and his head began to throb. Jensen sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, folding over slightly.

“Is it supposed to hurt?” he growled out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Not...not usually. But again most people are sedated for this. I’m keeping an eye on your vitals, everything looks acceptable for now.”

“Great,” Jensen bit out. Pritchard wasn’t kidding about it being worse.

The pain seemed to spread from his head, dulling to a low thud, making the remaining living muscles in his neck and back tense involuntarily. After a time sitting quietly, grinding his teeth, and digging holes into the sofa cushion with his grip, he felt Pritchard’s hand on his upper back. The hacker dragged his fingers up and down, scratching his overly tense flesh. Jensen let out an involuntary sigh as his muscles seemed to relax a little.

“Should give your brain something else to focus on besides the scan…Tell me if you want me to stop,” Pritchard offered.

Jensen ended up leaning forward, giving Pritchard better access, his head sagging. He managed to strangle the moan in his throat before it escaped. He vaguely wondered how Pritchard knew it would work, or if it was just a guess. But it really was distracting his brain. If he focused, all the pain and discomfort was still there, but he was too minutely focused on the fingers dragging across his back to care. 

And he definitely wasn’t about to ask Pritchard to stop.

Unfortunately, after a time Pritchard had to stop, needing to do things for the scan. Though by then the pain had spread to a more generalized discomfort. By the time the diagnostics were complete, Jensen felt completely drained. He was so drenched in sweat it looked like he’d stepped into the shower clothed.

Once again, while the scan was complete, the full diagnostic tests would likely run the rest of the day.

With the tests up and running, Pritchard settled in to do work- whatever precisely that meant for a hacker. And Jensen excused himself to shower, grateful he hadn’t bothered in the morning. The water was an instant relief, helping wash away the residual aches and unpleasantness of the scan, not to mention the buckets of sweat. Though, perhaps unsurprisingly this time, his dick had other ideas. 

What was this? Did his dick just have a Pavlovian response to the shower now? If a person could be effectively angry at their own cock, Jensen definitely was. At least this time he’d remembered to lock the bathroom door...

He ignored it through most of the shower, trying to will it to go away as he washed up. Though, when that didn’t succeed, the idea of sneaking to his room while trying to hide his boner in a damp towel didn’t sound very appealing. So he caved. 

This time he didn’t let his mind wander to such...fraught fantasies. He wasn’t nearly as sensitive either, and eventually stroked his way to a lackluster conclusion. But at least his erection finally started to fade away. Though a feeling that he wanted more lingered, leaving him unsatisfied. Once again he tried to wash it away with cold water before stepping out of the shower. 

By the time everything was said and done, and Jensen was back dressed and human again, it was well past noon. He was a little surprised by the quiet in the living room, expecting to hear Pritchard typing away at something. Instead he found the hacker laying on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes, looking pale. Or paler than he already was.

Jensen raised a brow, leaning over the back of the couch. Pritchard lifted his arm long enough to peer at him with squinted eyes, before dropping the arm back over his face. “It’s going to be a while before your tests are done,” he muttered.

Jensen leaned on the backrest, eyeing the hacker. “You okay?”

“I feel like my brain is trying to pound its way out of my skull through my eyes. Other than that? Fantastic.”

Jensen winced at that colorful description. Right. He had mentioned he didn’t drink coffee that morning. “You know, since I didn’t really hold up my end of the bargain, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“I said I would,” Pritchard grumbled miserably. “And you still have another chance to hold up your end.”

Jensen shook his head. If Pritchard was trying to guilt him, it was working.

“Besides, you’re probably right, I’m overdue for a caffeine detox…” Pritchard added after a bit of silence.

“You could always taper off.”

“That never works when I try it. It just...spreads out the misery.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Yeah... so many times… If you get too much of a tolerance it stops really _doing_ anything for you. It’s worth it to reset every once in a while.”

“Right...well. You need anything?” Jensen asked. Pritchard grunted.

“Well, if you’re offering, I have some pain killers in my toiletries bag in the bathroom…”

Jensen nodded. “Sure,” he pushed himself away from the couch, suddenly feeling a little guilty for taking so long in the bathroom. 

The toiletries bag sat next to the sink, half of its contents already spilling out. When Jensen explored it further to find the painkillers he blinked. One of the larger pockets was completely stuffed full of condoms. Why so many…? Part of him was starkly alarmed by the idea of Pritchard having sex. Just. In general. Also alarming was the implication that the hacker got laid more than Jensen did. Though he supposed it shouldn’t be _that_ surprising, given Jensen’s lack of effort lately. But the sheer quantity of them? Was he planning on fucking half of Prague? He had to give Pritchard shit for this.

“Christ, Pritchard, why do you have so many condoms in here?” Jensen called. He heard a pained grunt from the couch.

“I don’t know. It’s good to be prepared?”

“Prepared for what? An orgy?”

“What? I don’t know. I just grabbed, I was in a hurry, I didn’t count them!”

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle. Though as he stuffed one of the overflowing condoms back in the pocket, he finally noticed the “Magnum XL” written across the wrapper. He blinked. They were all the same. His face grew hot as he hastily closed the pouch, trying not to think too hard about the implications, or why some traitorous piece of him was _turned on._ He valiantly smothered all of his stray thoughts as he hastily checked another zipper pouch, successfully finding the painkillers this time. 

He brought the pills and a glass of water to the couch. He folded his arms, watching Pritchard as he downed four of the pills at once. 

“You sure you don’t want some coffee...or something.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Jensen nodded. It was...annoying. Technically kicking a caffeine habit and an alcohol problem were not comparable in the slightest. But most people didn’t have augments pumping healing chemicals into their systems, preventing them from experiencing most of the physical effects of addiction. On that front, Pritchard actually had the harder task. And it was making Jensen feel worse than he already did. And the damn thing was a situation of Jensen’s own making, just him being a dick, for no legitimate reason.

Also he successfully put Pritchard in an even crankier mood than usual. Which was just a really dumb thing to do to himself.

Regardless of Pritchard’s misery, the rest of the afternoon passed peacefully. Jensen spent some time exercising, and Pritchard eventually came back to life once the pain killers kicked in. One by one the tests ran their courses, all results virtually identical to last time. It was reassuring to know nothing had changed. 

As evening rolled around, Jensen was fiddling on his laptop when Pritchard let out a distressed _“what?!”_

That couldn’t be good.

“What is it?” Jensen asked, immediately striding to the couch. He glanced down at Pritchard’s laptop screen, seeing “results normal” in large letters. What was such a big shock?

“The scan on your link just finished. It says it’s in perfect working order…” Pritchard said, gesturing to the screen. “Have you tried turning it on lately?”

Jensen scowled, taking a moment to turn it on, only to immediately turn it back off as the screeching greeted him. “It’s still busted. What could that mean…?”

Pritchard scowled, brows furrowed, scrolling through the results. “It doesn’t make any sense. If it threw an error for both me and that Koller guy, but the deep scan came back-” he stopped abruptly, leaning back on the couch. “No...couldn’t be…There’s no way...”

“What?” Jensen asked, rounding the couch as Pritchard pulled up other windows, seemingly searching for something. “What is it, Pritchard.”

“I-I have a hunch. Where did I put the damn file- there…” the hacker went silent again as Jensen sat down, trying to peer at the screen. It looked like a list of serial numbers. Pritchard seemed to miss a beat as Jensen scooted in closer to look. Though after a moment he relaxed again, turning back to his task, his leg leaning against Jensen’s thigh. A few keystrokes later, the numbers were spinning by, and finally landed on one highlighted code. “You have _got_ to be kidding me…”

“Could you just tell me what we’re looking at?”

“So. Okay. Don’t be mad-”

With that preface it was Jensen’s immediate instinct _to_ be mad. But he played along for now. “Yeah, fine, what?”

“So. You know how I mentioned that Sarif had me do some...sketchy things?”

“Pritchard, just spit it out.”

“There was this batch of faulty microprocessors that got into Sarif’s stock. They had a chance in some extreme use cases to burn themselves out and throw intermittent errors. We should have recalled them but they were all in augs that were non life support enhancements. It was also really difficult to trigger the burn out, and a recall would have been a hit to the brand image, so...Sarif decided to cover it up. Had me go through the records and destroy all evidence of the problem and any proof that we knew anything about it.”

“But you kept the information instead of destroying it all.”

“Of course I did!”

“And one of those is in my head.”

Pritchard sighed. “I...I’m sorry I didn’t think to look sooner... just. Pretty much all of your augs were custom made. The faulty chips were all in prefab parts. But I guess your Infolink wasn’t custom. What are the odds,” Pritchard muttered, shaking his head. “I also have no idea how you burnt it out. Usually it would take something like, I don’t know, overclocking your cloak for extended use or to burn it out. You know, something we could blame the customer for, claiming they pushed it past spec even if they didn’t. But I guess if anyone was going to find an extreme use case for an Infolink it’s you. I don’t know maybe it was one too many EMP grenades to the face. I mean there’s a _chance_ it’s not the cause, but it’s a pretty safe bet.”

Jensen sighed. “How hard is it going to be to fix?”

“Should be a cinch...If we get a Sarif Industries microprocessor. We’ll have to check if your source has them. Hell, could probably get Sarif himself involved if you need, he has to know of somewhere to get them. This is technically his fault, after all.”

Jensen scowled. He didn’t like the idea of asking Sarif for anything. He knew the man would probably do it but...It didn’t feel right. He didn’t want that guy having any more to do with his life than he already did. Jensen stood with a sigh, running his hands through his hair. He should have felt more surprised but it just seemed...typical. 

“If you don’t think he’ll cough up the chip for free, I have some pretty solid blackmail material on him you could use,” Pritchard offered casually, as if that was a _perfectly_ normal thing to offer someone.

Still, Jensen paused. He had to ask, not that he had any intention of using it. “What is it?” 

“A sex tape.”

Jensen grimace. “Thanks, but hard pass…” he said, beginning to pace the room.

“Yeah, it was pretty gross.”

“Wait. You _watched_ it?” Jensen said, his pacing halting as soon as it began.

“Of course I watched it. I had to know what I’d gotten my hands on. I’ve seen worse, mostly vanilla crap. And a lot of bad camera work that seemed weirdly fixated on Sarif’s flailing balls… Oh yeah. Actually, you might have seen them, if you ever saw that gif of the guy’s nuts with googly eyes that’s floating around the web...”

Jensen sighed, covering his face with his hands. There was a mental image he’d never be free from. “I think you and I have very different hobbies.” 

“In my defense, I didn’t make the gif.” 

“Right,” Jensen muttered shaking his head. “Wait... why were you digging up blackmail on Sarif?”

“It’s always good to have insurance. I found that thing when I first started working at Sarif Industries. I was worried he’d try to leverage me, right? So I figured it’d be best to have leverage to use against him if it became necessary.”

Jensen narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any ‘leverage’ on me?”

“Hm? No...Nothing embarrassing at least,” Pritchard confessed surprisingly easily, but elaborated when Jensen continued staring him down. “I already told you what digging around I did on you! And before all...that, when you got hired I couldn’t find anything that wasn’t already public record. You were either really boring, or really cautious. Congratulations.”

Jensen shook his head, resuming his pacing. It felt like the more he learned about Pritchard and how he operated, the more questions he had. And the answers were so often things he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was probably safest to get the subject back on track.

“So, if we fix this microprocessor, will we even need the neuroplasticity calibrator?”

“I mean. Technically no? But it’s still a good idea. If you have to disable your Infolink again in the future, or it gets damaged somehow, you’ll have the same power routing problem with your other augs.”

“I guess I need to follow up on that address tomorrow then,” Jensen grumbled. He was going to need to anyway, if he didn’t want to deal with Sarif. Now he could only hope the lead was good, and she’d have what he needed. 

It felt good to finally have answers, but that was still only half the battle. 

From what little he could remember of his Red Light adventure, Jensen was confident trying to stop by the address late in the evening would yield no results, so it all had to wait until tomorrow. Having answers made him antsy. He felt like he had a direction again, a mission, and wasn’t just aimlessly drifting, waiting for an answer that felt like it would never come. 

Still, direction or not, he had time to burn. He spent it tidying, washing the abnormally large number of dishes, and cleaning up the kitchen. Pritchard was a good cook, but a bit of a slob. Jensen might have been a bit prone to clutter, but at least he promptly wiped up spills. His eyes drifted across his apartment. Pritchard was just becoming a fixture on his couch, and his constant typing part of the ambient noise of the room. He was still amazed it wasn’t grinding on his nerves yet. 

His focus drifted to the boxes. He’d never finished unpacking. This place didn’t feel like home. He wasn’t sure it ever would. He wasn’t sure what home even looked like to him anymore. He noticed the half empty bottle of absinthe still sat perched on the coffee table. And Jensen had to move another liquor bottle on the counter as he cleaned. He ground his teeth at the instinctive impulse to just pour himself a glass. 

Suddenly fed up, he grabbed a half empty box near the coffee table, and unceremoniously dumped the remaining contents onto the floor, then placed the bottle of absinthe inside. He could see Pritchard watching him out of the corner of his eye, trying to be inconspicuous, barely interrupting his typing. Jensen walked the box to the kitchen, placing the bottle from the counter inside as well. He hesitated, staring down at the two, remembering he had a bottle of shitty whisky in his room. He left the box, going in search of the bottle, only to discover he actually had two bottles of liquor in his bedroom. 

A dull, but crushing sense of shame started washing over him. When did it get this bad? How did he not notice? He tried to push the feeling away, it was useless to worry about right now. He just had to keep moving forward. 

After taking a long moment to compose himself, when Jensen returned to the living room he found the typing had stopped. Pritchard was in the kitchen, quietly opening cupboards and placing bottles he found into the box. It was already nearly full.

When Jensen approached, Pritchard reached out to take one of the bottles from him, his long fingers gently brushing along the back of Jensen’s artificial hand. His breath caught in his throat for a second, though he couldn’t rightly say if his reaction was from the touch or the entire situation. 

“I think I found everything from the kitchen,” Pritchard said, his voice low, somber. 

“That should be all of it then,” Jensen said, his voice more of a rasp than usual. He winced at the sound. He reached for the box, but Pritchard stopped him, gently pulling it out of his grip.

“I’ll take it, I need some fresh air anyway,” he said, the bottles clinking as he adjusted the box under an arm. 

“Fine,” Jensen said, flashes of frustration and anger boiling up for a moment. As he started to move away, he felt Pritchard grab his wrist. He turned to glare at the hacker, but was caught off guard by his empathetic, open expression. 

“I...it’s hard. I just want you to know I understand,” Pritchard said, his thumb trailing along Jensen’s wrist. He was torn between wanting to hug Pritchard and wanting to punch him in the face. 

“Right,” Jensen managed to rumble after a time, gently starting to pull his hand back, but Pritchard didn’t let go.

“You don’t believe me. It wasn’t alcohol. It was cocaine. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t play a large part in my arrest. Believe me, I get it,” Pritchard said, the grip on his wrist almost growing painful, or would have, if it was still flesh. Jensen blinked, a little surprised. Then again, younger Pritchard abusing serious stimulants did sound completely plausible. Hell, _current_ Pritchard doing it didn’t seem that far out of bounds, though Jensen hoped he would be smarter than that. “Shit gets out of hand sometimes. There’s… There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Or embarrassed by. Other people helped me through. And if you need help? I’m here. You don’t have to do it alone,” Pritchard said, finally letting go of Jensen’s wrist. 

The only reply Jensen could muster was a nod, suddenly overwhelmed. Pritchard nodded back, and headed for the door, bottles clinking and rattling. Jensen leaned on the counter as he heard the door clicked closed, his eyes squeezed shut. He had such an unpleasant and off-putting mix of emotions running through him it was like the skin crawling sensation of the diagnostic all over again, only this time from his own damn mind.

His fingers trailed to his wrist, he could still feel the shadow of Pritchard’s grip on him. His promise to help in his ears. Jensen swallowed thickly, and hurried off to his bedroom before Pritchard returned. 

For now, he really did want to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know Artemis is responsible for the googly eyes  
> Also a big shout out and thank you to the folks commenting and kudosing and stuff. I was afraid this thing would be like posting into a black hole considering how small the community is. Y'all rock, seriously.  
> I might also be chilling on the posting rate slightly. Probably every other instead of every week. We'll see...


	9. Chapter 9

Pritchard was too used to living in a cave it seemed. The light creeping through the blinds every morning was forcing him to wake up at reasonable hours, and thus go to sleep at reasonable times. It was jarring going to bed before three and waking up before eleven. But he was adjusting. Living in Prague meant his schedule was already many hours off from his previous routine, including the schedules of people he usually interacted with on the web. 

At least with another fistful of painkillers jammed down his throat, he was getting past the worst of the caffeine withdrawal. He’d probably be normal again by tomorrow. Jensen, however, had a much tougher road ahead of him. His augs probably dealt with the bulk of the physical symptoms he could encounter, but the emotional ones? Pritchard knew the feeling all too well.

Pritchard actually had to detox off of something much harder than caffeine twice. The first time he did it with a broken nose in the prison’s segregation unit after he apparently took a swing at his cellmate. Pritchard’s memory of the event was...fuzzy at best. A mix of withdrawals and the prescribed painkillers for his nose and a hearty dose of anxiety and no sleep left him exceedingly out of sorts. But he could remember the distinct shock on the face of the enormous grizzly bear of a man he punched. 

Pritchard couldn’t remember _why_ he decided to take a swing at him. Luckily, if anything, his victim thought it was funny and was friendly enough to Pritchard once he was released to gen pop again. Pritchard even hired him for a small breaking and entering job once they were both out. It was amazing the kinds of networking a person could do in prison. Pritchard met all sorts of people there he never would have encountered otherwise.

He didn’t have much of a choice detoxing then, being the new unconnected guy in seg. It was awful, no doubt about that. With his paranoia ramped up to beyond 1000, in a strange scary place, listening to the echoed jeers and curses of other inmates echoing down the corridor. His only window to the outside world a small view into the hallway, which usually greeted him with nothing more than a blank view of his neighbor’s door, and the occasional passage of a bored guard who occasionally checked to make sure Pritchard wasn’t dying. 

The second time was harder in many respects. When he was free, it was really only with the help of his friends that he was able to quit at all. He knew where all the dealers hung out, knew how to get a fix when the craving got so bad he wanted to crawl out of his skin and couldn’t stop shaking. But instead of steel doors blocking his escape, he had friends struggling to keep him grounded and safe. Friends who also knew what he was going through. In the end he did redouble his caffeine habit, but that was nothing by comparison, even if his friends still gave him shit for it.

He hoped he hadn’t overstepped his bounds with Jensen, particularly the other evening when he used his CASIE against Jensen outside the liquor store. It seemed wrong doing it to a friend, but felt necessary. It was apparent even without his aug that the conversation was going south, and Jensen was spiraling. It felt like the only way to keep things from ending disastrously. He was _immensely_ grateful Adam hadn’t noticed. If Jensen had caught on, Pritchard’s impending ass-kicking would have been absolutely justified.

Jensen was such a private person, having Pritchard nosing into his business probably wasn’t appreciated. No, it _definitely_ wasn’t appreciated, if his prior behavior was any indication. But Pritchard vividly remembered his own struggles, and how awful it felt. Not just the physical withdrawal, which was manageable, but the dependence. It made him feel bright and ecstatic, like he was the best goddamn hacker in the world, like he could do anything. It erased the reality that he was just some isolated little man typing away in a basement. Then there was the shame and humiliation that came with realizing his dependency. He never would have survived the second time without help.

Even though it was already ten AM, and Jensen retired to his room early, the man still wasn’t up. So Pritchard decided to start making breakfast. He had leftover bacon, after all. Who could guess when Jensen would show up. Maybe he escaped out his window as Pritchard slept to go on a bender. Or found where Pritchard left his stash.

The night before he walked the box of liquor down to the courtyard, labeling it “Free”, and what Pritchard guessed carried the same meaning in Czech according to his translation app. It either meant “free” or “available,” but hopefully people got the message. It seemed wrong just dumping so much alcohol when where plenty of other miserable addicts around who would want it. He didn’t blame Jensen for a second for falling into the spiral he did. And he certainly couldn’t judge Jensen’s neighbors. The city was miserable. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly Jensen’s neighbor caught him on his way back up. Was the woman ever not standing outside smoking? 

“You. Mr. Pencil. I apologize. I misjudged you.” 

“The name is Frank. And...thank you? I guess?”

“Right, right, Mr. Frank. I see now you are good person, not just good...meat?”

Pritchard had so many questions he couldn’t begin to formulate one, and instead stood in slack jawed silence as his thoughts tried to arrange themselves. _Meat?_

“You take good care of Mr. Jensen, yes?”

“Uh. Y-yeah, sure…”

He could only assume she’d spied on him taking out the liquor. It wouldn’t be surprising if she knew about Jensen’s drinking problem. His coworkers may have been none the wiser, but someone like her was bound to pick up on it. Seeing him come home with bottles all the time, or more obviously staggering home from the bar.

He still, however, could not fathom the “meat” comment. Maybe it was lost in translation…

Pritchard was startled out of his thoughts as he felt a cool hand gently slide across his lower back. It was all he could do to stop himself from jumping clean out of his skin, not so much from the unexpected contact--part of him had heard Jensen’s approach--but from _where_ the hand was.

“What are you making?” Jensen asked, alarmingly close, his hand still on Pritchard’s back as he leaned over the hacker’s shoulder, peering at the stovetop. When he noticed how stiff Pritchard had gone, the hand drifted away and he took a half step back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said softly.

Pritchard desperately fought the blush from his face, and breathed to settle his fluttering heart. He cleared his throat, poking at the bacon with a spatula. “I-I’m just cooking up the leftover bacon. Hadn’t figured out much else. You probably need carbs, right?”

Jensen shrugged. “It’s fine, I have cereal.”

“No, I can make crepes again. Or something,” Pritchard said hurriedly, trying not to sound too flustered, and feeling like he was failing. What the hell was _that?_ He’d seen him do that to Dr. Reed, when they were dating. He ventured a glance at Jensen, who was just studying the bacon, apparently oblivious to...everything. The man couldn’t be that dense, right? But he couldn’t possibly be flirting either. Being dense seemed far more likely.

Or Pritchard was just reading way too much into things. 

There were a few instances lately that made Pritchard wonder if his high groping wasn’t _exclusively_ the drugs. But he was also hesitant to read too much into it, blaming his own mind for them, wanting them to be significant, when even his CASIE augment failed to pick up any definitive indications. Though there were a few times when he thought he saw something. Who could say, really? 

But it wasn’t worth thinking about. Jensen had enough shit to deal with right now, pursuing a gay relationship with a greasy pencil was probably not a high priority. Though admittedly, Pritchard had spent an embarrassing amount of time scouring the web looking for old dating profiles or _anything_ that would indicate whether Jensen was exclusively straight or bi or what.

After a while he was mostly looking because he was pissed he couldn’t figure it out. Years of digging up dirt on people and this basic information eluded him. He did find Jensen tagged in a picture with his arm around a guy in a way that was maybe a _little_ gay. But it was one of his SWAT teammates, so it was hard to say with those bro types...Always slapping butts and getting matching tattoos then talking loudly about railing chicks to protect their precious heterosexuality.

Pritchard cleared his throat before daring to try and speak again. “I assumed after breakfast we could go investigate the business card,” Pritchard said, desperately trying to pull himself out of the train of thought. Jensen had a CASIE too, and it made Pritchard constantly paranoid that he’d give his embarrassing crush away, if he hadn’t already.

“We?” Jensen asked, rounding the counter and sitting on one of the stools.

“Yes, we. If we get lucky and this person has the microprocessors, I’d like to verify you don’t get another bad one. No offense but I’d rather the list not leave my possession. It would be bad for my reputation, really I shouldn’t have told you at all. But...given the situation.” He shook his head. If anyone deserved to know Sarif’s bullshit, it was Jensen. Not to mention Jensen wasn’t just any client, he was a friend. “And admittedly I’m...curious.”

“Fair enough. And thank you for cooking again, by the way.”

Pritchard shrugged. “I think staying here is throwing me off, I’m not even usually awake for breakfast. But it has the best food… Might as well,” he muttered.

As they ate, they devised their strategy. There was a chance they were walking into a hostile situation, but Pritchard doubted it. He’d dug into the address, and as far as he could tell it was in a modest apartment complex--then again, generally most aug-friendly complexes could be described on a range from ‘modest’ to ‘rat hole.’ But there was nothing immediately suspect about it. He felt confident tagging along, and that it wouldn’t turn into a firefight. 

And indeed, when they arrived, the apartment complex was quiet, a little shabby, but no worse than Adam’s own home. Possibly a little nicer, though the individual apartments looked smaller. The doors to the hallway of the apartment were missing, leaving it open to the air. The walls had been painted white at some point, but with fliers, graffiti, and mildew they’d become an unpleasant mottled canvas. Brass numbers hung on the doors, tarnished and pitted. When they found the correct apartment, one of the numbers was missing a screw, and hung upside down.

Jensen grumbled about not being able to check the area with his Smart Vision. But seeing no sign of anything suspicious otherwise, the men exchanged glances before Jensen stepped forward and knocked.

_“Coming, coming, give me a second,”_ a woman’s voice called in Czech, the translation app on Pritchard’s phone displaying her words in text. She sounded calm, at least, that was a good sign.

After a few moments, the door swung open, revealing a woman with long black hair, clad in a grubby, oversized, hole filled t-shirt and pink shorts so short they nearly disappeared under the shirt. The shorts also revealed a chrome, well kept looking, augmented leg. She gave the pair a quick glance before she sighed, looking vaguely annoyed.

_“Sorry boys I don’t do couples-”_ she paused, doing a double take, looking Jensen over again, abruptly switching to English. “Oh, no wait, it’s you! Hah, wasn’t sure I’d see you again. What? Decided to bring a chaperone this time?”

Jensen seemed to recognize her, from the scowl on his face. At least he had enough memories left for that much. “Very funny. He’s the tech guy, he knows what we need.”

She turned to Pritchard, giving him a once over with a critical eye. “Well, even if he was a chaperone, I wouldn’t blame you. I should apologize. I always heard that stuff hits a bit harder the more augs you have, but that shit hit you like a train. I’ve never seen anything like it. How much do you have hiding away in there anyway?”

“Enough. And I don’t appreciate you dosing me.”

“Hey, I warned you, my friends all like to party. It’s just part of the deal. I gotta say, though, I’m a little annoyed... because I told you I only do business with friends. And this guy isn’t my friend, but here he is,” she said, gesturing to Pritchard.

“Sorry, for some reason I’m having a little trouble remembering all the details of our agreement,” Jensen growled, sounding anything but sorry. 

The woman winced. “Fair…”

“He’s a friend of mine, good enough?”

The woman sighed, giving Pritchard another thorough examination, pursing her lips. After a few beats she rolled her head back in resignation. “Fine, fine. I guess. I feel guilty for fucking you up so bad, so I’ll make an exception this time. As far as I know you can’t OD on the stuff, but you had me second guessing that for a bit.” She extended a hand to Pritchard. “Name’s Kat. You are?”

“Frank,” Pritchard said, shaking her hand, which remained almost completely limp in his grip. It half looked like she expected him to kiss it, not shake it.

“Okay, Frank, I am going to check both of you for weapons before you come in, though.” 

“Uh, I actually have a stun gun on me…” Pritchard offered. 

She sighed, extending an open palm. “Give it here, I’ll put it somewhere safe for the visit.” 

Pritchard obeyed, and with that out of the way she turned to patting them down. She worked quickly and professionally, like she’d actually been trained how to do it at one point. That was until she got to Pritchard’s groin. “You holding out on me? Wait- no…” she laughed. Pritchard batted her hand away uncomfortably as she found something that was most certainly _not_ a weapon. “Sorry, big boy, my mistake,” she said as she stood, patting Pritchard’s cheek.

Pritchard huffed. “Honestly…”

“You know, most people like it when I handle their equipment. I’m impressed though. If you ever want to make use of my other services, I’ll give you a discount on your first go,” she said with a wink, trailing her fingers along the waistband of Pritchard’s pants, leaning in, thrusting her breasts forward. He again swatted her hand away.

“I think I’ll pass,” Pritchard snapped. 

Jensen’s glare was obvious despite his dark lenses, though Pritchard also seemed to detect a slight flush. 

Kat smiled with a shrug and walked back into her apartment, waving for them to follow.  
The apartment looked like barely more than a studio. The only nice thing in the space was the bed, adorned with black silk sheets. Off to one side sat a sad, dilapidated couch with threadbare cushions. The kitchen at the far side of the space was stacked high with dirty dishes, and what appeared to be a ball gag. 

Various pieces of leather fetish gear lay strewn about, whips, thigh high heeled boots, a gimp mask. A chair near the bed had at least a half dozen strap-ons and dildos piled in it...He had to wonder how on earth Jensen found this woman.

“I know I said I don’t do couples, but hey, maybe I can make an exception for you boys, if you change your mind,” she offered. At that it didn’t take a social aug to see Jensen redden. 

They rejected her in unison, “no thanks,” Jensen said.

“We’re not a couple,” Pritchard blurted, flustered. 

“Fine, fine, break a girl’s heart, why don’t you?” she casually strode to a framed poster on her wall for an erotic art exhibit. She slid the frame aside, revealing a button. She pressed it, and a wall swung open, revealing what was probably originally a bedroom in the apartment. Now, instead it was full of shelves, stacked high with equipment and augmented limbs. “So, gentlemen, what are you in the market for?”

Pritchard gave her the specs of the microprocessor they needed. She hummed, taking a case off one of the shelves. “You sure it has to be Sarif Industries? Now that those boys are out of business, tech is getting hard to come by,” she said, cracking open the case. Inside was a black foam lining, and dozens upon dozens of tiny microprocessors. She plucked a pair of tweezers from the lining, and scanned the processors over, squinting.

“Yes, it does,” Pritchard said. Technically, if worse came to worst, he could make do with something else, but it wouldn’t be ideal, especially if Jensen had already somehow burnt out this one.

“Well, looks like your lucky day. I have one. It won’t be cheap though…” she said, plucking the processor in question out with the tweezers. Pritchard asked for the serial number, which garnered an eye roll from Kat. She grabbed a jeweler’s loupe from one of the shelves and read it off. The hacker breathed a faint sigh of relief; it wasn’t on his faulty list. 

“We also need to get ahold of a neuroplasticity calibrator,” Jensen said. She smirked.

“You know, I’d heard someone had been asking around town for one. I wondered if that was you,” she said with a smile. She pulled out a stool from under one of the shelves, and climbed up. As she reached, she balanced on her augmented foot, brushing her sock clad toes against Jensen’s chest. She checked over her shoulder with a wink. Jensen took half a step back, looking unimpressed. 

“If you heard it, why didn’t you put the word out so you could make the sale?” Jensen asked.

“I told you, I only do business with friends.”

Pritchard looked around the room, stacked floor to ceiling with parts. It seemed like she had quite a few friends. Then again with the dual career of prostitute, or rather probably specifically dominatrix, and black market aug vendor, it was reasonable to be cautious about her customer base. 

She finally plucked the tool from the top shelf, and climbed back down. “I’m thinking five thousand for the chip and fifteen thousand for the calibrator,” she said pressing the calibrator against Pritchard’s chest, leaning in uncomfortably close with what he assumed was supposed to be an alluring smile. “So, twenty thousand all together. And I’ll even throw in a freebie for you, Sweetie…”

“That’s outrageous!” Pritchard snapped, gently but firmly placing his hands on Kat’s shoulders, pushing her away. “And would you stop with this seduction shit if I told you I’m gay?”

“You are?”

“Very.”

“Hm, a shame,” she said with a pout, “I really wanted to break you.” 

“W-what? Why me?! Why not Jensen over there? He’s the hot one!” Pritchard stammered.

“What? Hey, don’t bring me into this-” Jensen protested, Kat chuckled, stepping back, twirling the calibrator in her hand, giving Pritchard another once over. 

“Oh, I can just tell. You’d be a fun project. I like bringing boys who think they’re on top to their knees,” she purred running her fingers along Pritchard’s jaw, he again batted them away as she smiled, glancing over her shoulder at Jensen. “And as to your other question, our friend Adam here is already broken. But not in a fun way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jensen barked. Despite the dark lenses he looked rightly offended. But Pritchard’s CASIE picked up countless other tells; he didn’t look overly impacted at first glance, but she might as well have punched him right in the gut with that one. 

“Don’t worry, Sweetie, I’d still be more than happy to take you for a ride…I can make that part of the offer instead since I don’t have all the right equipment for your friend here.”

“I’ll pass. And I can’t do twenty thousand. That’s outrageous even if I could,” Jensen snapped, trying to rein in the conversation. The three set about bartering. Eventually they started narrowing in on an agreement they could deal with. They’d pay a significantly lesser amount to _borrow_ as opposed to _purchase_ the calibrator, leaving one of Pritchard’s fake ID sets and one of Jensen’s most expensive weapons with her as collateral. And additionally, they’d buy the microprocessor from her. It was likely they’d be able to find one with another dealer, but if they wanted the calibrator, she wanted the sale.

They had a difficult time getting everything into a reasonable price range. Usually such a chip would be maybe a thousand credits at most. She seemed to want to milk the absolute most out of its rarity.

“Alright, one last offer,” she said with a shit eating grin that made Pritchard nervous. Just when they were approaching a deal that would actually work.

“What is it?” Jensen grumbled. 

“Six thousand for rental of the calibrator and the processor. And you boys clean up my apartment for me.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Pritchard wheezed shrilly.

“What can I say? Usually I have a client who comes in about once a week, wears his little maid outfit, and cleans the place up for me. But his new girlfriend has him on a tight leash, I guess no surprise there. But now the place is a mess,” she said, gesturing to the bonafide disaster that was the livable portion of her apartment. 

“You can’t be serious…” Pritchard groaned. 

“Take it or leave it.”

“I assume you don’t expect us to wear maid outfits?” Jensen grumbled, folding his arms.

“Wait, _us?_ You’re the one who needs-” Pritchard protested, she nodded.

“No maid outfits, and yes, both of you,” she said, leaning against the hidden doorway. “But I’ll knock off, oh, five hundred if you do it nude,” she offered with a laugh, clearly not expecting to be taken up on her offer.

“No thanks on the discount. But we’ll take it,” Jensen said, sounding resigned and placing a hand on Pritchard’s shoulder to stop the hacker before he could protest, much to Pritchard’s dismay. 

“Damnit- okay. Fine. But you at least have gloves, right?” Pritchard asked. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“Yep, only one pair though, you two get to fight over them. They’re hanging next to the sink,” she said, gesturing to the location. Pritchard immediately snatched them.

“They’re mine, because I still have skin on my hands,” Pritchard snapped. Jensen shrugged, shaking his head, seemingly resigned to the absurdity of the situation. 

Luckily, blessedly, they were not required to clean the sex toys (other than the ball gag in the sink) and the work went fairly quickly. The entire time Kat sat on her bed, casually scrolling through a newspaper, but mostly watching them with a wry smile. 

Pritchard’s eyes scanned the apartment as he rinsed ancient coffee out of the last of the dishes. He wondered where the cameras were. There was no way she wasn’t recording them. In her line of work, having blackmail ready to keep her clients in line was probably smart. Hell, some of her clients probably even got off on the prospect. She caught his wandering gaze, her smile widening. Yeah, she was definitely filming this. 

As Jensen vacuumed the bulk of the apartment, Pritchard was left to scrub down the tiled portion of the kitchen floor. Naturally, Kat didn’t own a mop, so he got to scrub the floor with a sponge on his hands and knees. Kat wandered over as he did, Pritchard firmly and furiously ignoring her until she placed the end of a leather riding crop under his chin, tilting his head up. He glared as a wicked smile lit her eyes.

“See, I knew I’d get you on your knees one way or another.”

“You’re sick,” Pritchard bit back over the roar of the vacuum. She giggled, a bright, girly laugh.

“I get that a lot.”

A few moments later the vacuum switched off, and Jensen approached, politely but firmly moving Kat out of the way to help Pritchard finish up the floor. Kat chuckled, returning to her bed.

“Thanks, Pritchard, I owe you…” Jensen said quietly.

“Honestly? This is _not_ the direction I expected negotiations to take,” Pritchard scoffed. They’d explained their skill sets to her, but she seemed uninterested in utilizing either of their expertise. She claimed she liked to keep her business “clean”, whatever the hell _that_ meant. This was really not the interpretation of clean he envisioned. 

A little while later, as Pritchard wrung his sponge out in the bucket, he noticed Jensen’s shoulders silently shaking. His brows furrowed with concern for a moment until he noticed the man biting his lip, holding back laughter.

“What?” Pritchard hissed. 

Jensen shook his head helplessly. “This is just...so stupid…”

Pritchard snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

But he was right. ‘That time he had to clean a dominatrix’s apartment in exchange for aug tech’ would make an amusing anecdote someday, if he was willing to tell anyone. The fact that this woman decided a highly skilled hacker and someone who fit the description of “super spy” about as well as anyone in the world would be best put to work scrubbing her floors was...well it was certainly some sort of life choice. Pritchard was firmly of the belief she got into sex work not out of a need for cash, but as a way to profit off of her preexisting proclivities. 

It seemed she was just living her dream. Too bad she was such a creep.

And Jensen was going to owe him one _hell_ of a favor after all this.

Finally, the apartment was spotless, or at least as spotless as they could reasonably make it, and Kat let them on their way with the promise to return with her collateral. 

With that, they headed back to the apartment, Jensen to pick up the collateral, and Pritchard to grab some equipment before heading out to Koller’s lab. They’d agreed earlier it was probably simplest to crash what remained of the lab for the actual procedure. Pritchard had the requisite equipment, but an actual operating chair was going to be easier to navigate than Jensen’s couch. Not to mention some of Koller’s tools _were_ better than what Pritchard brought along. 

Still, it was worthwhile to bring much of his own equipment. Unsurprisingly he had mostly Sarif Industries tech, much of which he obtained for free or at a steep discount as the business was going into bankruptcy. They were, naturally, the best tools for working on Sarif augs.

He set up and familiarized himself with the space as Jensen dropped off the collateral and picked up the microprocessor and calibrator. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bullshit, Pritchard was going to get to finish the job he came here for. 

He felt sad at the notion of finally moving on. His attraction to Jensen notwithstanding--though not insignificant either--it was nice to have company. He also hated the idea of leaving Jensen alone after everything. Maybe once Adam went back to work he wouldn’t fall head first into his drinking habit immediately, but Pritchard wasn’t optimistic. He had a strong, almost absurd need to protect him. Pritchard felt like he’d failed at that in the past. And compared to the calamity that was the Incident, a drinking problem was nothing. But the urge remained, at least it was _something_. 

Then again, it’s not like he’d pack up as soon as the procedure was over. He _still_ didn’t have a place to go, and probably more infuriating, _still_ did not know who wrecked his hideout. He was unwilling to go impose on Artemis or any of his other backup spots until he knew who had it out for him. Right now, he’d be difficult to track, if not borderline impossible. 

Eventually Jensen arrived at the lab with their hard won tech. He seemed uneasy as he eyed the chair, and Pritchard. 

“You _have_ done this before, right?”

“This exact procedure? No. But similar ones. I’ve become a bit of a black market Sarif expert since it went under. Let’s just say you’re not the first person to ask me for help. Not my preferred line of work, but...” Pritchard shrugged.

“You really know how to elicit confidence,” Jensen grumbled.

“Just, sit down. It’ll be fine, I promise. It’ll be over with before you know it,” Pritchard said, placing a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, gently guiding him into the chair. Adam moved like his usual confident self, but Pritchard could feel the tension under his fingers. He wanted to rub his back, assure him it was okay, but settled on a faintly reassuring squeeze instead. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Jensen sighed, relaxing ever so slightly. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Pritchard nodded in agreement, rolling an equipment table over. He found the rear cranial port quickly this time, he’d had enough practice, and plugged in a different probe from the diagnostic. “Alright, I’m putting you under in five…four…three...”

Jensen sagged in the chair as Pritchard reached the end of his countdown, his body slowly going relaxed and limp, his lenses retracted and eyes fluttered shut after a few moments. Aug assisted sedation was so handy. 

Pritchard quickly set to work, and loaded the microprocessor into a robotic nano arm. It went through auto sterilization procedures as Pritchard navigated the micro camera into place. Though as his screen zipped across the surface of the damaged Infolink in search of the faulty processor, something odd caught his eye.

Something was off with the broadcast module. Pritchard pulled the camera back to get a better look. Granted, he hadn’t worked on many Infolinks, but it didn’t look right. Sarif almost never used green in any of their parts. This was green, and seemed to be in the wrong place. He pulled up the schematic and carefully cross referenced the area. There was supposed to be a chip there, yes, but this chip was wrong. Slightly too large. And as Pritchard inspected closer, he realized, the green device sat atop the chip in the schematic. This thing was something altogether different. 

Pritchard started scrolling through his reference materials, trying to figure out what on earth it was. It definitely wasn’t Sarif tech. And it wasn’t included in the schematics for Jensen’s new additions either. If this Koller person wasn’t familiar with Sarif tech, or hadn’t been inspecting the Infolink specifically, it would be easy to miss. Hell, Pritchard almost missed it. It wasn’t coming up in diagnostic scans either, almost like it was shielded from them. Something wasn’t right.

Eventually, Pritchard realized what it was. It was a _rebroadcaster._ Whoever installed Jensen’s new augs effectively bugged his Infolink. No wonder the microprocessor burnt out. He was unknowingly doubling all transmissions, sending them to a third party. 

Pritchard broke out in a cold sweat at the discovery. His first impulse was to remove it, but without knowing more about it, he was nervous. It was attached to a pretty vital and high-power area of the link. If he fried the link, even if he didn’t hurt Jensen in the process, the entire thing would need to be replaced, which was a procedure Pritchard couldn’t perform. Chances were it could be safely removed, but he would need to do more research first. 

It figured. Because Jensen didn’t have _enough_ problems in his life, now Pritchard would have to break the news to him that every goddamn private conversation he thought he’d had on the link since Panchaea was broadcast to some third party. 

He eyed the chip loaded into the robotic arm. He could get the Infolink working again, but… It would all be a waste if he ultimately fried the whole link. Besides, the device just made him too nervous. It changed everything, and he didn’t want to do anything without Jensen’s approval. As for the calibration, that was the sort of thing best done once. If they had to do something drastic with the link, Pritchard really did not want to repeat it if it could be avoided.

Reluctantly, Pritchard closed Jensen back up, and deactivated the sedation routine. Within a minute Jensen stirred, consciousness sliding back in place. He looked around the room, disoriented, but faintly relieved, until he saw Pritchard’s face. The hacker _tried_ to not look grim, but the situation was just…

“You couldn’t fix it,” Jensen said as more of a statement than a question upon seeing Pritchard’s expression.

Pritchard sighed heavily, wheeling a monitor with an image of the foreign chip into view. “While I was looking for the microprocessor, I uh...I found this,” Pritchard said, pointing at the chip with a pen. Jensen scowled at the image as Pritchard swallowed, bracing himself to deliver the bad news.

“So, this part?” he pointed at the Sarif Industries chip, barely visible underneath the green device. “This is your broadcast frequency modulator relay. But it’s been fused with this,” he pointed to the green foreign chip. “It...I need to examine it more but…” Pritchard trailed off. 

“Spit it out, Pritchard,” Jensen growled, his fingers gripping the surgical chair, making the arms creak. The hacker swallowed.

“It’s. As far as I can tell it’s a rebroadcasting device. Someone...someone bugged your Infolink.”

With that Jensen grew quiet, and pale. His jaw muscles flexing as he clenched his teeth, his fingers digging even deeper holes into the chair. Though he didn’t look quite as surprised as Pritchard would expect. 

“Do you know who?”

“No. I-I might be able to figure out what frequency this thing is set to, but that’s a big maybe. And even then…”

“I need to contact Alex,” he said, his voice rough.

“O-of course,” Pritchard said, as Jensen hurriedly scrambled at his pockets for his phone, standing abruptly, and nearly tipped over as he did. Pritchard caught him. “Easy! The sedation routine is still wearing off,” Pritchard warned. 

Jensen barely acknowledged him, taking a second to regain his center of balance before he marched away, quickly dialing. 

Pritchard sagged into the surgical chair as Jensen walked out of earshot, talking softly and urgently on his phone. How did Jensen live like this? The second hand anxiety was crushing enough, he couldn’t imagine living under it firsthand. 

Eventually they made their way back to Jensen’s apartment. Pritchard needed to research the foreign chip and how to remove it, of course, but Jensen was a bit preoccupied with damage control, and tasked Pritchard with trying to figure out if he could determine where the bug was broadcasting to. 

Pritchard managed to pull what he believed was a way to get the frequency off the bug when his stomach started growling. Jensen was locked away in his room, still coordinating damage control with Alex, and possibly others. Pritchard decided he would go out and grab dinner for them. It seemed like the least he could do. 

Jensen’s neighbor smiled and waved as she smoked at the top of the stairs, but for once didn’t have any weird commentary for him. Perhaps his grim demeanor kept her at bay. 

When Pritchard reached the courtyard, he noticed a small group of large, suspicious looking men huddled together, talking among themselves in Czech. Suspicious groups in this part of town weren’t unusual, but they didn’t look augmented, which seemed like a bad sign. He decided to give them a wide berth, heading for one of the further exits. 

Much to Pritchard’s dismay, after a few moments they grew quiet, and started casually following him out. Pritchard slid a hand inside his jacket, clutching his stun gun. He altered course, hoping to loop back around to one of the building’s other entrances, this _really_ wasn’t good.

Before he could make it back, the men seemed to catch on to his plan and started after him in earnest. Pritchard pulled out his stun gun, planting an electric charge into the belly of the first attacker, sending him to the ground. The hacker started sprinting, only for a second man to catch up to him, tackling him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. 

Pritchard started shouting for help as soon as he got his breath back, one of the thugs dragging him to his feet. A second thug clamped a hand over the hacker’s mouth, shouting what Pritchard could only assume was the Czech equivalent of “shut up!” Pritchard bit down on the hand as hard as he could, the iron taste of blood hitting his mouth. This earned him a yell and a punch to the face so hard that it sent the world spinning, and would have knocked him to the ground if another thug didn’t have him by the shirt. 

World spinning or not, Pritchard lunged forward, slamming his forehead into the thug who was holding him up, the attacker’s nose making a sickening crunch. The thug dropped him, and Pritchard tried to scramble away, before a violent kick to the ribs sent him toppling to the ground, two more sets of hands grabbing him instead.

Pritchard yelled, kicked, and flailed as one of the men dragged a dark fabric bag over his head, along with more painful punches trying to subdue him, including one to his diaphragm, again knocking the wind out of him to silence him. Blinded and essentially immobilized by four thugs, they dragged him away, and threw him into what Pritchard could only assume was the back of a van or truck. He hit the hard metal floor, and heard doors slamming around him. As he struggled to get back up, hands grabbed him, holding his arms behind his back, rough rope suddenly winding its way around his wrists. 

With the screech of tires they were moving. Disappearing into the night. Adrenaline fueled panic fell into something worse as he lay on the floor of the vehicle, arms bound, ankles quickly being lashed together, blind, listening to angry chatter in a language he didn’t understand. He was helpless, hopeless. He was fucked. 

Pritchard kicked at the person tying his legs, continuing to try to struggle and shout. Hands grabbed the front of his shirt, dragging him to his feet, once again yelling something he couldn’t understand. A fist cracked against his face again, only this time he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D!  
> Again shout out to my lovely commenters and readers~ sorry to do this to you. Sort of. Only a little.


	10. Chapter 10

The world faded back in slowly, Pritchard’s ears were ringing, his eye, temple, and jaw throbbing. The corners of his mouth hurt. A piece of cloth had been tied, wedging his mouth uncomfortably open, gagging him. The cloth was soaked with saliva, forcing him to breathe through his nose, which became increasingly difficult as the panic filtered in.

He found himself seated in a chair, his ankles tied to the legs, and arms lashed behind him, securely roped down to the backrest. He glanced around the room, squirming uselessly against the ropes. It was dark, but light from a monitor cast a faint yellow glow over the space. He was alone, bound in the center of the room, facing a single camera perched on a tripod. There were no lights on the camera, so Pritchard could only assume it was off. Regardless, it made the situation all the more unsettling.

Why was he grabbed? He’d heard of harvester gangs killing people for their augs, but the fact that he was still alive made it unlikely. Jensen had plenty of enemies, and he had just found their bug. But then again, what good would kidnapping him do them? If they knew he found it, surely they were aware Jensen already knew as well. That left, of course, whoever wrecked Pritchard’s hideout. It was hard to believe the bastard located him, but it was still the most likely suspect.

Outside the door he heard voices faintly drifting in. 

“You said he would be little bitch. He broke Johan’s nose so bad it will never be same. I need stitches on my hand. And probably rabies shot,” the voice snapped, after a few beats of silence the voice spoke again. “This job now more expensive, or I let him loose. This is pain in my ass,” he snapped, seemingly on the phone. Pritchard could only pray whoever was on the other line decided it wasn’t worth the money. But he doubted it. “You watch your mouth, asshole… yes of course we have him. You are lucky we did not kill him...I am not sure I will check.”

Pritchard winced, squeezing his eyes shut as the door opened, the light from the hallway blinding him momentarily. 

“He is awake,” Pritchard recognized the speaker now as one of the thugs who tried to grab him. He had a bandage wrapped around his hand, dots of blood soaking through in a vaguely crescent shaped pattern. It seemed Pritchard had managed to bite him pretty hard. He would have sneered, if he wasn’t gagged.

After a few moments of silent listening, the thug muttered, “sure, fine,” and held out his phone. He snapped a picture, the unexpected flash leaving spots on Pritchard’s eyes. He fiddled with the phone, seemingly sending the photo off. A few moments later Pritchard heard laughter coming from the end of the line. It sounded distorted, like it had been run through a voice changer. Who _was_ this prick?

The thug held the phone up to his ear, then grunted an acknowledgement. He tapped a few buttons and held the it out again. “Speaker is on.”

_“Good, good. It’s nice to see you, Nuclearsnake,”_ the voice over the phone said, sounding infinitely smug despite the voice modulation. _“You know, I was going to have this guy work you over a bit more on camera for me, but you look just about perfect like that. Have to save some of the fun until I get there. I’m going to cherish this photo.”_

What kind of sick bastard...? Pritchard growled, there wasn’t much response he could make with cloth stuffed in his mouth. The voice laughed again. 

_“That’s right, Frankie. This is what you get for fucking me! Actually, you know what? I changed my mind. Pavel? Could you do me a favor and give our friend here one good hit for me?”_

The thug smiled, transferring the phone to his injured hand. “With pleasure,” he said. Pritchard tried to brace himself for the impact, but there was no way to prepare for the backhanded strike that nearly knocked him and the chair clean over. He cried out into his gag, doubling over as far as the ropes would let him, eyes watering. He felt a fresh trickle of blood rolling down his cheek as he desperately tried to breathe and not choke on his own saliva. The voice on the phone laughed with so much glee Pritchard’s pain and terror were almost replaced by anger. 

_“Did you hear that?”_ the voice said, proceeding to make a mockery of Pritchard’s muffled yell. _“So great. Well, you sit tight, Frankie. I’ll make you into a movie star soon.”_

“What do you want we do with him?” Pavel asked. 

_“Oh, keep him tied there for now. Give him water occasionally I guess. But he doesn’t need food or anything unless you want to, I shouldn’t be more than a couple days. I want to deal with him myself.”_

With that the line went silent. The thug shook his head, muttering something in Czech that sounded vaguely disgusted, or at least disapproving. He turned an insincere smile on Pritchard. “Well. Enjoy your stay. Try not to piss yourself. I do not want to deal with mess. Will be back later.”

The thug marched out of the room, closing the door behind him, once again plunging Pritchard into darkness.

Pritchard’s mind spun. Who the _fuck_ was this guy? When the hell did he piss off someone this sadistic? There were a couple hackers recently he didn’t know particularly well who he’d more or less stolen jobs from, but surely all of this couldn’t be over some cash? It felt too personal. He supposed he had slept with a guy not too long ago who apparently had a boyfriend who was pissed. But it wasn’t intentional, the guy failed to mention it; that was distinctly not Pritchard’s fault. Not to mention this would be a terrifyingly extreme overreaction.

Okay for anyone short of the Palisade Bank owners this was a terrifyingly extreme overreaction. 

Wrecking Pritchard’s hideout, and probably having him beaten was one thing. He could see that being related to any number of business transactions. Angry customers, angry rivals, angry victims, you name it. But this? Wanting to “deal” with Pritchard in person, and presumably traveling to do so? That was something else. And what the hell did the “movie star” comment even mean?

He started reviewing everything he did that could have pissed off a bonafide sadist in the last year. Previously his suspect list was just people he believed capable of tracking him, but none were like this. 

Finally, a possibility dawned on him. It was a small job, but a disturbing one. A woman contacted him, wanting a video of herself taken off the web. Some revenge porn her ex posted of her. Naturally, the authorities weren’t willing or able to help, so she figured she’d turn to someone who could get her results. 

It was easy enough. He deleted the files off of all her ex’s devices, but when Pritchard found the website the boyfriend uploaded it to, he was disgusted. Vile shit on the internet was so routine for him, he rarely blinked an eye anymore. But this place was _bad._ On top of the mounds of revenge porn, the site hosted videos of executions, murders, all forms of death and dismemberment, and what he was pretty sure were real snuff films, among its other vile and illegal forms of pornographic media.

Once he tracked down and deleted the files of everyone who’d downloaded his client’s video, he decided the easiest way to serve his client’s needs was to just take down the entire website, and fry its servers. Though not before he downloaded the most important bits of data and anonymously forwarded it to the FBI, in case they could be bothered to give a shit. Which he sincerely doubted.

The security on the site was so shoddy, it never occurred to him someone with the skills to track him could possibly be running it. He covered his tracks, of course, but clearly must have slipped up somewhere. Maybe the site had a backtracking worm good enough to slip past Pritchard’s security. Hell, maybe it was one the FBI put there that this bastard harnessed. It was the only explanation he could think of. 

A horrible sinking feeling came over Pritchard as he glanced at the camera again. If he was right... Pritchard did not want to be added to the guy’s snuff film collection. And he was definitely getting a new laptop when he got out of this. _If_ he got out of this…

It didn’t really occur to him until then how safe he’d felt staying with Jensen. Such a security threat should have put him on the pinnacle of paranoia for weeks until he found the source. But he’d been so damn distracted with his domestic drama and stupid crush. Not to mention Jensen made one hell of a body guard, whether Pritchard consciously thought about it or not. There’s no way those thugs would still be standing if he’d been there. He wondered how long they'd been lurking around, waiting to get him alone. Or maybe they just got lucky.

Pritchard was furious at himself for letting this happen, and terrified. He struggled against the ropes in vain, succeeding only in making his arms and wrists even more sore and chafed. His eyes watered, tears starting to spill down his cheeks as he struggled not to panic. How the fuck did he let this happen?

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a few steadying breaths. If he had any hope of getting out of this, he couldn’t panic. He needed to focus on getting free. He listened intently to anything around him. He couldn’t hear thugs nearby, but he could hear a television somewhere in the distance. With any luck no one was posted outside his door, and instead was off watching TV. If he was unlucky, well, he’d find that out too. But the thugs probably wouldn’t kill him without their employer’s permission, which was good news. 

Jensen had gotten out of tougher spots, right? Just because the guy was half military grade augments...Okay it was a shitty comparison. Pritchard shook his head. It ultimately didn’t matter. The situation was what it was.

He looked around the room, trying to think of something, anything. He was tied up with ropes, at least, not handcuffed. Maybe there was some way he could cut through them. To his left, next to the computer desk sat a shitty old filing cabinet. It was lightly rusting, and the corner edge looked jagged. Maybe, just maybe that could be enough. If he could get over there somehow. 

Pritchard squirmed in his ropes, pushing his feet against the ground, rocking himself backwards, but failing to move in a useful direction. He tried a few more times before giving up. He decided on another tactic, jerking his weight suddenly up and to the side. He successfully hopped the chair maybe an inch to the left, with a scraping honk across the floor. Well, it wasn’t quiet, but it was movement. 

He made it nearly two feet before, with another hop, the chair’s legs caught unexpectedly. Pritchard’s eyes flew wide as the chair tipped over, and he slammed down on his side, landing on his arm. He was almost thankful the gag stifled his yell of pain. He lay on the floor, wincing and whimpering for a moment, pulling against the ropes, the pain in his arm so intense he wondered if he fractured it.

After taking a moment to reorient himself to his new position, Pritchard ground his teeth through the pain, and continued trying to scoot towards the filing cabinet. He found if he pushed off the ground just right with his toes, he could scoot in the right direction. It was exhausting, and painful, but he slowly made progress. 

Eventually, he managed to get his wrists against the edge of the filing cabinet. The rope snagged and caught against the corner, but he couldn’t tell if it was working or not. Pritchard ground his teeth against his gag, trying to dig the ropes against the edge harder. It _had_ to work. What other option did he have?

Eventually he felt like he was making progress. There was a distinct dent in the rope. Unfortunately, Pritchard had also managed to exhausted himself. It had to have been hours by now. Despite, or perhaps partially thanks to the saliva soaking his gag, his throat was parched, and his stomach twisted in knots with hunger. He couldn’t feel his pinned arm anymore, and he barely had the strength to lift his head. He lay on the floor, trying not to give up when he was once again blinded as the door swung open.

“Where the- Frankie, you devious little piece of shit,” the thug’s voice said. Pritchard winced preemptively as he strode up. The thug grabbed his hair and the backrest, dragging him and the chair upright, drawing another pained yell out of Pritchard. “I am here to give you water and piss break. You cooperate, I do not turn on the camera and beat shit out of you, yes?”

Pritchard meekly cooperated, too exhausted to do anything else. He silently cursed himself, maybe if he hadn’t worn himself out on his fool’s errand he’d have the strength to try and fight back now. Then again, what would he expect to accomplish in a brazen escape? He’d most likely just piss off the thug and end up in even worse shape. 

Thankfully, feeling (and unfortunately pain) flooded back into his left arm once it was no longer pinned under the chair. Though his pain intensified as the thug tied him back down to, the ropes even tighter than before, it hurt like a bitch, but without the constant weight on it, the pain started to subside. This time, the thug also hauled up several immense plate weights, the kind made for barbells, and tethered them to the chair, anchoring him in place.

He eyed his handiwork with a satisfied huff, dusting off his hands. “These weigh more than you. Good luck trying for escape now.”

Despair started seeping in as the hours dragged by. There was no budging the with the weights, and no wiggling free of the ropes, and the chair was thick and strong enough he couldn’t break it. He struggled to remain focused, and not give up. The guy said he’d probably not be more than a couple days, right? That meant Pritchard had some time at least. Maybe he could try to regain his strength before his next “piss break” and try to make a break for it then. After being so meek and defeated the first time, the thug probably wouldn’t expect it, right? Or he’d just shoot Pritchard in the kneecaps if he tried. Not that he’d even need to, how could Pritchard ever hope to outrun him?

He tried desperately not to think back to the images he’d seen on the site, trying not to contemplate what kind of horrific fate awaited him if he couldn’t escape. How had something so...so insignificant turned into _this._

Pritchard was disrupted from his bleak thoughts when he heard a grunt and a thump. Suddenly the door opened, and he heard the sound of something being dragged. Once Pritchard was able to see again, a blessedly familiar silhouette greeted him. 

Relief flooded him, tears immediately starting to stream from his eyes. Jensen quickly strode forward, rounding the chair, and started untying the gag. 

“Oh thank god-” Pritchard said, an edge of hysteria in his voice as the filthy cloth was finally tossed aside. 

“You okay?” Jensen asked quietly, he heard the sound of Jensen’s arm rearranging as the blade extended. A few moments later the ropes were cut away.

“I’ve been better,” Pritchard managed to croak hoarsely as Jensen came back in front of him and helped him to his feet. Pritchard stumbled forward into Jensen’s chest, his legs cramped and sore. Instead of immediately trying to right himself, the hacker clung tight, burying his face against Jensen’s shoulder. “I thought I was dead-” Pritchard managed to choke out, shaking. 

He felt Jensen’s arms encircle him in a gentle, reassuring hug, one of his augmented hands cupping the back of Pritchard’s head. They stood for a long moment, holding each other close, Jensen’s cheek nuzzling ever so slightly against Pritchard’s head as his grip tightened around him. Pritchard squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to Jensen’s firm, strong form. He felt safe, the terror of the last however many hours slowly melting away, even though he knew full well they weren’t out of danger yet. He never wanted to let go. 

“It’s okay. We’re getting out of here. But we have to move,” Jensen whispered, still holding Pritchard.

Pritchard nodded meekly, trying to pull himself together, standing on his own feet as Jensen’s grip slackened. “H-how did you find me?”

“You have Mrs. Babko and Artemis to thank for that.”

“How-?”

“I’ll explain later.” 

“R-right,” Pritchard said, following as Jensen quietly moved for the door, scanning the hallway. Pritchard paused over the body of the unconscious thug. It was that Pavel bastard. An idea occurred to him, and he started searching through the man’s clothes.

“What are you doing?” Jensen hissed. 

“I need to steal his phone so I can find the bastard responsible-”

“Artemis already found him, don’t worry about it.”

Pritchard froze, staring up at him in surprise. Jensen elaborated. “He started bragging about kidnapping you on the darkweb. She found out and tracked him. Turns out it’s some asshole named Jordan Walker. The guy sounds like a real piece of work.”

“R-right, okay...Lead the way then,” Pritchard whispered. 

Jensen nodded, silently gesturing for Pritchard to follow. The two crept into the hall, and rounded a corner leading to a stairwell headed up. Pritchard followed obediently, not willing to question their escape route and risk being heard. Though as they rounded the first flight, they came face to face with another thug. Jensen grabbed him and slammed the man’s face into the wall a second too late, the thug managing to yell something before he was knocked unconscious. Shouts rang out from downstairs, and Jensen grabbed Pritchard’s arm.

“Run,” he hissed, dragging the hacker up the rest of the stairs.

Pritchard staggered and stumbled as he tried to keep up, but for the most part managed, despite the exhaustion and cramps in his legs. Though, he couldn’t help his confusion and dismay as they wound up on the roof of the building. 

“What- is there a fire escape?” Pritchard asked.

“No, we’re jumping,” Jensen said, the death grip on Pritchard’s arm tightening as he pulled the hacker towards the edge of the building overlooking an alleyway.

“W-what? Are you insane?” 

“I have the Icarus, remember?”

“That thing’s designed for one person!”

“It can handle terminal velocity, it can handle two people off a five story building, we don’t have time for this, Pritchard,” Jensen snapped, the voices of the thugs growing louder. 

Before Pritchard had a chance to register what was happening, Jensen pulled him into a bear hug, and launched both of them off the side of the building. Pritchard let out a strangled squawk, clinging to Jensen for dear life as they fell. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the Icarus engaged, humming and arching it’s electric field around them.

The landing was rough, but not bad enough to hurt either of them. Pritchard was shaking anew at that sudden jolt, and here he didn’t think he had any adrenaline left. Only this time instead of being terrified--okay he was still terrified--but he was also quite giddy. So this was why people enjoyed skydiving…

He turned his attention to Jensen, and was surprised to see him standing, staring. Even with the lenses it looked a little unfocused. Then he remembered.

“Eyes cut out?” Pritchard asked as shouts started ringing from the roof.

“Yeah,” Jensen said. Pritchard swore. He grabbed Jensen’s arm and started to run, leading him through a dark maze of streets. He ducked down beside a dumpster, dragging Jensen with as he heard the shouts of men pouring out onto the street. Jensen followed his lead, ducking low, though a few moments later he shook his head, leaning forward, peering cautiously around the dumpster. 

“That was a long one,” Pritchard muttered. 

“Yeah, that was a bit larger of a power draw than I anticipated,” Jensen admitted softly. 

Once again, Jensen grabbed Pritchard’s wrist, and pulled him along, darting out of the alleyway into another dark street after a patrol passed. They hurried along, keeping low and behind cover when they could, until Pritchard spotted a motorcycle parked in an alleyway. He stopped, this time dragging Jensen along with.

“What-”

“I can hotwire this model,” Pritchard said. “We can use it to get out of here. I just need you to break this piece off for me.” He pointed to a plastic panel near the ignition. Jensen glanced around, then reached down, the plastic flexing and snapping under his impossibly strong fingers.

Pritchard straddled the bike, and yanked at the newly exposed wires, quickly finding the ones he needed. He pulled them from their contacts before touching them together. A broad grin took over Pritchard’s face as the engine purred to life. 

“Yes! Get on,” Pritchard hissed.

Jensen glanced out the alleyway one last time before nodding and hopping on the back. With his passenger secure, Pritchard pulled away, flying down the streets at reckless speeds, forcing Jensen to hold onto him. He had no idea where he was going, other than _away._

Once they’d finally made it a couple kilometers with no sign of a tail, Pritchard slowed to a safer speed. 

“Where are we, anyway?” Pritchard called over his shoulder above the roar of the engine and wind.

“The far North end of Prague, you’re going to want to turn left up there to head back to the apartment.” 

“Do you really think going back there is safe? They found me there!”

“I doubt they’ll regroup tonight, and if they try again we’ll be ready for them. And all our equipment is there. Do you want to owe Kat fifteen thousand credits for the calibrator…?”

Pritchard actually managed a laugh at that. It amazed him a little how quickly he’d gone from the depths of hopelessness to laughing. Maybe he was just giddy and exhausted after everything. His face still hurt, as did his arms and legs. But riding down the road with Jensen’s firm arms around his waist, chest pressed up against his back...He’d never even dreamt. If it weren’t for the lingering pain, it would be perfection. 

“How long was I gone?” Pritchard asked as they stopped at a light. 

“A little over a day. Sorry, it took some time tracking your location.”

Pritchard shook his head. “I-I’m just glad you found me. Thank you. I think you saved me from a very...a very bad fate.”

“Yeah, that guy sounded unhinged. But don’t mention it, it’s not like I could just leave you…”

By the time they made it back to Jensen’s apartment, Pritchard was beyond exhausted. All of the adrenaline had finally worn off, and twenty four hours of hell, no food, and limited water were finally catching up to him. They parked the motorcycle a ways from the building--it was stolen after all--and by the time they’d made it to the stairs, Jensen had to stop Pritchard from just tumbling back down them, to the point where he just gave up and slung an arm around Pritchard’s waist, supporting him along the way. 

As they reached Jensen’s floor, his neighbor’s door flew open. Mrs. Babko hurried out, arms wide. 

“Mr. Frank! You are alive! I was so worried! You look like hell! What did bastards do to you?” 

Pritchard was surprised, and a little touched by her concern. “They just roughed me up a little, I’m fine,” Pritchard said, forcing a smile, though the fact that he’d probably be face down on the ground if Jensen wasn’t holding him upright was likely apparent to anyone.

“You must come in; I have tea and stew. It is perfect for healing, come-”

“Thank you, Mrs. Babko, but I think Frank needs rest,” Jensen said. Actually hearing Jensen use Pritchard’s _preferred_ first name was so startling, it almost sounded unnatural coming from his mouth. He wasn’t sure he liked it…

“Yes, yes, of course. I bring you stew. Go, take care of boyfriend,” she said, waving them along, before hurrying back inside.

“We’re not-” Jensen started weakly, but it was no use, her door clicked shut behind her.

Pritchard managed a small laugh. “I think it might be a lost cause,” he said. 

Jensen just shook his head, helping Pritchard the rest of the way to the apartment. True to her word, a few minutes later, Jensen’s neighbor arrived with two heaping bowls of stew, and a dense crusty loaf of bread tucked under her arm. Jensen thanked her as Pritchard settled into the couch. As tired as he was, his stomach still started to growl at the reminder of food. 

Jensen brought him the bowl, a slice of bread, and some water. Pritchard downed the entire glass almost immediately, which Jensen obligingly refilled. Jensen barely touched his own stew, and milled about quietly as Pritchard devoured his food, then appeared again with a first aid kit. Now was his turn to sit on the coffee table, examining Pritchard. 

He tore open a small foil lined pouch, pulling out what looked like a wet wipe. He gently brushed the hair out of Pritchard’s face with his free hand, dabbing the cloth across the cut on his forehead. Pritchard expected it to sting, but instead a cool, lightly soothing sensation spread. It seems they had some sort of numbing agent in them. Pritchard’s heart fluttered a little at the gentile contact, but he pushed it aside. Now was not the time.

Jensen moved on to his other cut, cleaning it similarly. After a while he nodded. “Those don’t look too bad. Probably won’t even leave scars if you take care of them,” he said, putting the distinctly red stained wipe aside on the coffee table. “Do you think anything’s broken?”

Pritchard shook his head. “I thought my arm maybe but, I guess I made the motorcycle ride. Still hurts like a bitch though.”

“Let me see it,” Jensen said. Pritchard nodded, wincing as Jensen helped him out of his shirt; the sleeves were too long to roll up. It hurt to raise his arm, it hurt to do just about _anything._ Jensen helping undress him should have been titillating, but was mostly just painful. 

Jensen ran his fingers along the injured arm with a grimace as Pritchard explained what happened. His arms looked like hell, bruises and red marks criss crossing where the ropes lay, both from being bound too tightly, and Pritchard’s struggles. Fortunately, his sleeves saved him from most of the rope burn. His wrists, however, were painfully raw and red.

“Well, it’s going to leave one hell of a bruise either way. It’s pretty swollen, it could be fractured. But you’re right, the motorcycle ride probably should have hurt a lot more if it was. Ribs all fine?” he asked, his fingers brushing along a large purple mark on Pritchard’s side, the cool touch sending a chill up his spine.

“Hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken,” Pritchard managed to say.

Jensen nodded and rummaged in his first aid kit. He pulled out a hypo injector. “This has some healing factor in it, should help your arm either way,” he said. Pritchard nodded, wincing as the needle pierced his skin, but soon sighing in relief as pain slowly melted out of the limb. 

As Jensen finished inspecting Pritchard’s injuries, the hacker had to wonder if this was how Jensen felt during the diagnostics, sitting in Pritchard’s place just... Oddly vulnerable and exposed. Though he doubted Jensen felt such a quiet thrill at Pritchard’s touch as Pritchard did now, having those cool fingers trail across his body. Then again, maybe he had...Pritchard _did_ have a read on his vitals the whole time, and had seen a few strange things.

But it was an absurd thought. 

He should have felt more anxious about everything, sitting there shirtless, with Jensen scrutinizing his body, especially knowing about his CASIE aug. But Jensen seemed to be avoiding eye contact, and the CASIE couldn’t pick up what the user refused to look at. Pritchard couldn’t quite figure out why he was behaving the way he was. He seemed subdued. Exhausted. Had he been that worried?

They sat in silence, Pritchard’s head rapidly growing too fuzzy to think about much of anything, as Jensen packed up the first aid kit. But then the quiet was broken by a persistent buzz. Jensen reached in his pocket, pulling out his phone. He glanced down at the number, then held it out to Pritchard.

“I think it’s for you,” he said with a faint smile.

Pritchard furrowed his brows, confused, before he answered, putting the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?”

_“Frank! Oh thank FUCK you’re OKAY!”_ Artemis practically shrieked on the other end of the line. Pritchard had to hold the phone away from his head at the volume…

“Yes, I’m fine, but you about broke my eardrum…” Pritchard chided.

_“Oh shut up, asshole. Fuck. I thought you were gonna die. The guy. The- he. He fucking started a forum posts taking requests on what he was going to do to you. I was so scared- that picture,”_ she rambled, tears choking her voice. 

“It’s okay. Jensen found me, we’re safe now,” Pritchard reassured. It was weirdly comforting, trying to reassure someone _else_ he was fine. It made the notion that he’d escaped even clearer in his mind. He really _was_ safe. Though he didn’t like the news that apparently his _picture_ was on the web now. He’d never been as cautious as he should have been separating his identity from his hacking handle, before Sarif he’d always assumed he’d pretty much be a career criminal, so what did it matter? But that was a bit much...

_“So the bastard who hired those guys, Walker? I jammed his phone and his laptop, so no one should be able to communicate with him, he shouldn't know you got out. It also looks like he has about ten hours more flight time before he lands in Prague. I have a track on his phone, so I should be able to watch where he goes when he lands._

_“I think I dug up the number for one of the thugs who grabbed you. Now that you’re out I might be able to leverage them without getting you killed. I have their bank accounts by the balls if they won’t listen to reason, and a photo of some Pavel guy getting pegged by a prostitute. And like a million other gross photos, but I doubt he’d want that particular one getting out.”_

Pritchard blinked, listening in stunned silence. “You’ve been busy,” he said, sincerely impressed at what she’d accomplished in so little time. 

_“I THOUGHT you were going to get MURDERED. FRANK. OF COURSE I’VE BEEN BUSY,_ ” Artemis yelled, her voice elevating to a near shriek as Pritchard once again held the phone away from his ear. 

After reviewing a few details, and confirming the names of the thugs Pritchard could remember, as well as reassuring her once again that he was fine, Pritchard hung up the phone and handed it back to Jensen with a wry smile. He was proud of Artemis for doing such a thorough job. Usually her hacking fell a little short, not because of a lack of skill, but a lack of follow through. Apparently she just needed proper motivation…

“She seems like a good friend,” Jensen said with a soft smile. 

“Yeah. Why did she have your number, anyway? And you said your _neighbor_ helped you find me?”

Jensen shook his head. “Mrs. Babko saw the men follow you and heard them grab you, then came running to tell me. They got away before I could get to them, but I managed to get their plates. When I was trying to hammer down who the van belonged to and where it went, Artemis contacted me. Seems that guy had posted a picture of you tied up on the web and she freaked out. Not sure how she found my number but I’m guessing the same way you hackers find out anything.”

Pritchard nodded. “She’s a great hacker when she puts her mind to it.”

“Yeah, she managed to trace the plates and figured out your location with them.”

Pritchard scowled, thinking for a moment. “So… there’s a picture of me on the web? Let me see it,” he said, reaching for Jensen’s phone back.

“You could just look in a mirror,”

“Adam...”

Jensen sighed, and after a few swipes pulled up the picture, holding it up for Pritchard to see. Pritchard looked...slightly worse for wear than he expected. The picture was washed out from the flash, leaving him even paler than usual. The bag over his head had mussed his hair into a wild matted halo, and the rag in his mouth was, in fact, even grosser _looking_ than it tasted. He licked his lips unconsciously, frowning. 

He had a black eye and a trickle of blood smeared from his temple all around the right side of his face. Blessedly, his expression at the camera looked confused and furious, instead of completely terrified. It wasn’t the most dignified photo in the world, but at least he’d maintained _some_ dignity. 

Pritchard backed out of the photo, finding himself on the forum Artemis mentioned. He read the post with a scowl.

_"Hey you shitbags. This is a message to all you hackers about what will happen if you fuck with me. I’m about to make Nucl3arsnake here wish he was never born. If any of his enemies or just curious onlookers out there want to see him suffer, I’m taking requests on what to do to him. I have plenty of ideas, but I’m always open for inspiration."_

The first few posts were surprised at seeing Nucl3arsnake’s face, and questioning if it was real, until one of Pritchard’s rivals confirmed it was him. Though at least that guy had the decency to be horrified at the situation, enemy or not. With general commentary out of the way, the suggestions started coming in. They ranged from fairly benign (a haircut was a popular suggestion) to the truly horrific. More than a few people jumped in with objections and expressions of concern and disgust. Artemis appeared early on, promising to find Jordan and fuck him up if he laid a finger on Pritchard.

Before he could get too far down the thread, Jensen snatched the phone away. “Are you reading it? Don’t read that…”

“I need to know who to put on my blacklist,” Pritchard hissed. He didn’t recognize most of the usernames giving suggestions, probably just burner accounts or sick onlookers. Still, he should check into it.

“I’m sure Artemis is already on it. You should clean up and get some rest.”

Jensen was right. Now that some of the worst of his pain was taken care of, he felt itchy and sticky and disgusting. He probably looked worse than he did in that picture by now, caked with dried blood, sweat, and his own damn drool. 

Pritchard slowly heaved himself to his feet, Jensen gently grabbing hold of his arm, helping him up. Pritchard tried not to blush as he almost stumbled into Jensen, his legs still rubbery. It was strange, Jensen was acting so… _subdued._ He almost wanted to hug him, reassure him that he was okay like he had Artemis. Which was _absurd_ considering Pritchard was the one who just went through a harrowing kidnapping. 

He excused himself to the bathroom, almost hesitantly shutting the door behind him. He strode to the mirror, finally taking the time to assess the damage.

His face was a total mess, as he predicted, smeared with blood and sweat. His greasy hair was even more of a disaster than the picture: the motorcycle ride hadn’t done him any favors. And he could see a day’s worth of stubble that seemed to catch and accentuated the dried blood on his face. There were a few clean spots around his wounds, showing the contrast of just how bad the mess was. Perhaps most unexpected were how red the corners of his mouth were, from the gag.

Pritchard gently pulled the tie from his hair. It was, of course, falling out, but simultaneously tangled in place. He grabbed his brush and started trying to work out the tangled disaster on his head, vaguely horrified at the clumps of hair that occasionally came away on the bristles. It seemed a lot more than he expected had been ripped from his scalp when the kidnapper hauled him up, and remained stuck in place thanks to the ponytail. 

Just as his arms were getting too tired to deal with it anymore, Pritchard got his hair detangled, and stepped into the shower. The hot water stung his wrists, ankles and face at first, but after a time helped soothe away the aches and pains from his ordeal. It felt good to scrub the blood and filth from his face and body. It felt good to know he was _safe._ Even if he was already actively plotting his revenge.

That bastard was going to pay for this.

Pritchard didn’t like feeling helpless, of course, no one really did. But it was a position he found himself in one too many times the last few years. He needed to hit back, and wreck that bastard’s life before he could fuck anyone else.

Suddenly, he realized...this was probably how Jensen felt about his foes. This need to do something. Though Pritchard doubted Jensen was quite so revenge focused. He was too kind for that. Too noble.

Pritchard, however, was not. 

When Pritchard stepped out of the shower, he suddenly remembered he’d once again forgotten to grab his clothes. Though he was also almost positive his clothes were all dirty. He _had_ planned to wash them the evening he got grabbed. He scowled as he squeezed his hair with a towel, contemplating his options. He walked to the drier, checking inside, finding a few pairs of Jensen’s sweatpants. Pritchard pulled a pair on. All things considered, he was pretty confident Jensen wouldn’t have a problem with him borrowing them. 

The sweatpants were, perhaps unsurprisingly, a little loose. He pulled the drawstring tight to make sure they’d stay in place. He smiled a little at himself. Sweatpants and no shirt; too bad he didn’t pull off the look half as well as Jensen did.

“Sorry, I borrowed a pair of your pants,” Pritchard announced as he emerged from the bathroom.

“That’s fine,” Jensen said from the couch, looking up from his laptop and...did he just give Pritchard a once over? The hacker tried to suppress a blush. Surely not. He was probably just...assessing the damage. Pritchard was, after all, a mess of red marks and bruises.

Pritchard walked over to the couch, peering over Jensen’s shoulder, surprised to see a chat log with Artemis420 up. “I’m trying to tell your friend to get some sleep while Walker’s in the air. He can’t do anything at thirty thousand feet with a busted laptop.”

Pritchard shook his head, typical. “Here, hand it to me,” he said. Jensen shrugged, passing the laptop over his shoulder. Pritchard balanced the device on the back of the couch, typing out a message.

Jensen:  
_It’s, Snake. Artemis. GO TO SLEEP. If you’re so worried set up an alarm for when he lands. You’re a fucking idiot when you’re sleep deprived. Just do it._

Artemis420:  
_Why are you still up? You’re the one who should be asleep. It’s like late there. It's early morning here._

Jensen:  
_Have you slept since yesterday?_

Artemis420:  
_No..._

Jensen:  
_GO TO BED._

Artemis420:  
_Okay okay. Fine. MOM._

With that she logged off. Pritchard shook his head, rounding the couch and sitting heavily next to Jensen, handing the laptop back. Jensen thanked him, closing down the screen, but didn’t move from the couch. Instead he waved Pritchard away. 

“You should go to sleep too. Take the bed, you need it. I’ll sleep out here.”

“What? I can’t-”

“Francis...” Jensen said, in a tone that brokered no argument. Not that Pritchard especially _wanted_ to argue. Sleeping in an actual bed sounded amazing, but it also felt a little wrong kicking Jensen out of his own bed, especially after he saved Pritchard’s ass. 

“I...okay fine. Thank you. And. Thank you again. For saving me. I-I can’t begin to imagine what would have happened to me if you hadn’t,” Pritchard said softly, he rested a hand on Jensen’s arm, trying to get his attention, trying to get Jensen to look at him, but the man continued to avoid making eye contact. He seemed uneasy, anxious, not like his regular self. Pritchard didn’t like it. 

“Don’t mention it,” Jensen said, a hint of roughness in his voice, or more than usual. 

Pritchard sighed, and obediently padded off to Jensen’s room. He felt oddly overwhelmed climbing into the man’s bed. The thing he’d so stupidly avoided at three in the morning what was a little over a week ago, but felt like an eternity ago now. He couldn’t help burying his face in the pillow, and was greeted by the scent of Jensen’s sweet shampoo and a faint underlying musk that was uniquely his. _God, it does smell like him._

With blankets wrapped warmly around his sore body, and face buried in Jensen’s pleasant scent, Pritchard was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a tiny bit early obvs to ease the cliffhanger not because i'm gonna be hideously busy tomorrow no...Also this chapter is big boy. Okay not huge but. Bigger than average
> 
> I'm also getting close to knowing the final chapter count on this bad boy. Awyea
> 
> Also I must share a quick story about our villain. I arbitrarily picked "Jordan" as the first name then went to a random name generator that had me input the name and some characteristics (white... north american...evil...) and its first suggestion was "Peterson" and I fucking cackled.


	11. Chapter 11

Didn’t he fall asleep with a shirt on?

Jensen purred a soft moan as hot lips trailed along his exposed collarbone. Long fingers combed through his hair before running down his neck, shoulders, trailing along his augs until their fingers became intertwined. The caress sent shivers down his spine, and a twinge of excitement as his hands were pressed against the couch. 

“God, you’re a work of art,” Pritchard purred, pulling away long enough to look down at Jensen, hair falling over his clean shaven and blemish free face. There was a hunger in his eyes; he looked almost wild. 

Next thing he knew Pritchard’s lips were on him again, trailing down his chest, sending hot bolts of electricity and arousal through Jensen’s body. A hand slid down, pinching his nipple hard enough to ache, making his back arch, and cock throb even harder. 

Pritchard slid further, pulling Jensen’s sweatpants down over his almost painfully sensitive cock. Jensen practically saw stars as his warm tongue dragged its way up from base to tip and-

_Bzz bzz_  
_Bzz_  
_Bzz_  
_…_  
_Bzz bzz bzz_

Jensen stirred, reality coming back in a confusing soupy mess. He was still on the couch, but wearing a shirt, and Pritchard was _not_ about to give him a blow job, though his throbbing erection remained. He shook the rest of the cobwebs out of his head, adjusting his pants uncomfortably. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a sex dream. 

He wanted to be mad at his mind for conjuring up... _that._ But given the nature of dreams about Pritchard he _could_ have had instead...he couldn’t be too upset about it. He’d done exactly what he told Pritchard not to do, and read much of the forum. Some people were just sick. Calling it nightmare fuel was charitable.

Jensen had enough nightmares lately.

Buzzes continued to emanate from the coffee table. With a yawn, Jensen finally reached for his phone. He’d forgotten how annoying it was dealing with one. 

Artemis420:  
_Hey_  
_Good news_  
_I managed to get ahold of that Pavel guy._  
_Barely even had to threaten him he was all like_  
_”I say never do business with hackers or augs. It is bad idea. But I say fine, is little job messing with small time hacker. I do. But now I find he is not small time, is aug, AND have fucking half robot friend. Bastard lied. Fuck this. We are not being paid enough. And man is creepy. I have limit.”_  
_So sounds like they’re off your back for now_  
_There’s a bunch of other hackers who are also mad pissed at Jordan, whether they liked Snake or not._  
_They’re taking it as an affront to the whole hacking community_  
_They already drained his bank account._  
_I’ve been checking around to see if he had funds stashed anywhere else_  
_In his line of work it’s likely, he was pretty much painting a target on his back_  
_But other than however the FUCK he tracked down Pritchard he seems like a bit of a dumbass?_

Jensen rubbed his eyes, struggling to focus on the text first thing in the morning. But that was good news. He squinted at the time. Eight AM. He was surprised he’d managed to sleep so long. He stayed up for a good while after he sent Pritchard to bed, but Artemis hadn’t been the only one running on twenty four hours of no sleep. It was probably why he was so damn sloppy finally getting Pritchard out, bumbling into someone like that and miscalculating the power drain from their fall.

Still, it was great to hear. Unless he had a lot more funds very well hidden somewhere, with an empty bank account, having enough to hire goons again any time soon seemed unlikely. 

Jensen:  
_That’s good news._

Artemis420:  
_How’s Frank?_

Jensen glanced to the bedroom door, it was still closed, and quiet. He had a paranoid urge to go check on him, but knew he had to still be asleep. He’d set his security system to alert him in the event of _anything._ Doors, windows, someone inputting a single keystroke on his pad or plugging into it. 

But still…

He stood--fortunately thinking about business was well into the process of killing his erection--and walked quietly to the bedroom, peering inside. Pritchard lay face down on a pillow, somehow simultaneously sprawled on the bed and tangled in the covers. The dude must sleep like a tornado…He silently closed the door.

Jensen:  
_Still asleep._

Artemis420:  
_Good. He probably needs it, shit. I can’t imagine._  
_Give him a hug for me when he wakes up._  
_He probably needs one._

Jensen frowned a little. The memory of discovering Pritchard tied to the chair rising vividly back into his mind. The flood of relief he felt finding him alive and mostly unharmed. The way Pritchard fell into him, holding tight. Jensen didn’t want to let go either, wanted to hold him longer, but feared discovery. Pritchard wasn’t the first person he’d saved, nor would he likely be the last. Why did it feel so different?

Jensen:  
_I’ll let him know you’re thinking about him._

Artemis420:  
_Bitch I said HUG._  
_I swear it won’t destroy your fragile heterosexuality to hug a dude._

Jensen shook his head. Why was everyone making assumptions about his love life lately? Or had it been like this all along and he just didn’t notice.

Jensen:  
_Seriously?_

Artemis420:  
_I’m an expert on straight behavior. Trust me._

Jensen:  
_Well I’m not._

Artemis420:  
_An expert?_

Jensen:  
_Straight._

Artemis420:  
_My bad._  
_See though now you have even less of an excuse if you’re already infected with the gay germs._

Jensen:  
_Gay germs?_

Artemis420:  
_Yeah!_

Jensen shook his head again. He was seeing why this woman had weird sister status in Pritchard’s life. Though he was almost a little surprised Pritchard was such good friends with someone so...lively.

Jensen:  
_Let me know if you have any updates._  
_I have to go._

Artemis420:  
_BITCH_

Jensen logged off. His phone buzzed a few more times, but he ignored it. He wondered how much sleep she’d actually gotten. If she was up before him and had found out so much already... Pritchard _had_ said she was an idiot when sleep deprived.

Well, that was one way to start his day. He wanted to be annoyed at Artemis for...whatever the hell that was, but was ultimately just amused. It was a welcome change from how he spent the evening, in a pit of anxiety and _desperately_ wanting to drink.

It had frightened him how badly he wanted a drink. Some part of his mind was always convinced he could stop whenever he wanted. But he knew with certainty if there’d still been liquor in the apartment, he would have broken down and had some. The only reason he didn’t leave and go out to a bar was his overriding fear of leaving Pritchard alone. So instead he sat on the couch twisted up in knots, furious in the knowledge that Pritchard was right about his problem. 

The previous day had been a lot to deal with. This is why he tried to work alone. Risking betrayal, risking people he cared about, it was too hard. He’d tried to push Pritchard out before, severed ties with him so he wouldn’t have to worry about yet another person. But here he was. And he’d almost assuredly be dead if Jensen hadn’t grown desperate and contacted him. 

It was all such a sickening mix of emotions. He hated it. He didn’t always do the best job detaching himself from his work. But this was different. 

The panic set in as soon as his neighbor came pounding on his door, telling him his “boyfriend” had been grabbed. He immediately jumped down to the courtyard on hearing the news--much to Mrs. Babko’s momentary alarm--and sprinted for the exit. He could hear the scuffle and slamming of the van’s doors, and barely saw the license plate before the vehicle disappeared down the dark streets.

Jensen tried to pull in every favor he could in the hours after, trying to track the bastards down. It was unsettling to realize how few favors he had remaining. He’d severed so many ties. When the Collective was unable, or perhaps unwilling to help him, and with TF29 keeping him at arm’s length, he truly felt alone. 

At first he worried it was his own fault. That the bastards trying to control Jensen’s life were responsible, thanks to the hacker finding their bug. Any relief he felt when Artemis contacted him with the truth of the situation disappeared as soon as it came, as she explained the gravity of who had captured Pritchard and why. 

Part of him was furious at Pritchard. This situation was of his own damn making. It wasn’t like him to be so sloppy. The man was always arrogant, and mistakes came with overconfidence. Then again, Artemis had no idea how he’d been found. Not to mention this creep wasn’t even on Pritchard’s _list_ of suspects. How was he supposed to guard against such a complete unknown?

Jensen decided to check his email, trying to put the buzzing thoughts back out of his head. He found two emails from Kat. The first a furious demand that they return the calibrator immediately--they’d promised to take it only for a day. With everything that happened, Jensen forgot to update her on the situation with the chip, and definitely didn’t think to tell her about the kidnapping. The follow up email, however, was different.

_“Holy shit I just saw your friend on the net. Let me know if you boys need anything. I’m not a great hacker but that’s fucked.”_

Well, at least she was understanding. It figured someone like her would find out about the thread.

Although Jensen sincerely doubted she was in any way involved, he still didn’t want word of Pritchard’s rescue spreading too far for now. Not that he expected the thugs to keep their mouths shut; but they probably weren’t advertising to everyone that their prisoner escaped either.

He wrote back briefly, telling her he’d keep her posted and that he’d return the calibrator soon, and mentioned he might need a different component. He’d been so busy trying to do damage control around the fact that _every single_ Infolink communication he’d had since Panchaea was likely compromised, that he hadn’t gotten around to trying to _fix_ the problem yet. 

His life had suddenly gone from far too sedate and boring to far too complicated in the blink of an eye. 

As Jensen tried to decide what to do while Pritchard slept, he remembered the man had no clean clothes. _But boy did he look good wearing mine…_ He flushed at the thought. He was pretty sure Pritchard caught him looking too, but didn’t really react to it. 

Regardless of Jensen’s opinions, Pritchard would probably want clean clothes, so he decided to do laundry for him. Before any parts of him could harken back to his dream, the slowly stirring latent arousal immediately quashed itself when he found Pritchard’s shirt lying on the bathroom floor, filthy and stained with blood. He filled his bathroom sink with cold water to let the thing soak, but the blood was getting old and dried, he doubted the stain would come out. Bloodstains were a bitch to deal with. 

His pants weren’t in much better shape, scuffed and torn in a few places and smeared with grime. He searched the pockets for Pritchard’s cellphone. That was the first thing they tried to track, but couldn’t find a signal. Presumably the thugs either broke it and disposed of it or stole it and wiped it. Artemis guessed the former. At least his jacket seemed to be in okay shape. What dried blood there was flaked off, and though there were a few scuffs it wasn’t overly damaged. He supposed motorcycle jackets were designed to take a beating, after all. A good thing too, he could only imagine how furious Pritchard would be if it had been ruined.

With laundry started, Jensen decided to make breakfast. Pritchard would probably be hungry when he woke up, and it seemed only fitting that Jensen try to feed them at least once during his visit. Pritchard had done so much cooking he was starting to feel bad about it. 

He set about making pancakes. He mixed the batter, and poured the first one into the pan with a satisfying hiss. As he waited for it to cook, he started the coffee maker, a bemused smile on his lips when he noticed Pritchard had purchased decaf. Apparently he planned to be good on his word when it came to no caffeine, but wasn’t about to give up coffee entirely. Just as he finished that task, he heard his laptop chime. An email from Kat. 

_I got a source so I can get you just about every Sarif chip on the market. As for price, if you fuck up that dude’s operation? Like, I don’t care how, just so long as he’s gone, it’s free. That piece of shit hurt one of my friends. Just tell me what you need._

Jensen chewed his lip. Free was definitely a good deal, especially since it was almost certain he’d end up dealing with Jordan anyway. He couldn’t just let someone who tried to murder Pritchard walk free. Not to mention the guy was obviously a bonafide sicko. It was unclear if he’d ever made any of the twisted content he was so fond of hosting, but it didn’t really matter. He obviously intended to. Pritchard probably would not be his last attempt.

Too bad he was still a little unclear on what was needed to fix his link. He’d have to ask Pritchard.

_We should probably talk in person. Though in light of what happened, I intend to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else._

Within moments the response email appeared. 

_Okay, keep me posted._

“Do I smell burning?” Pritchard asked through a stifled yawn, Jensen looked up. Right. Breakfast. He hurried to the stove top, in time to pull off a lightly blackened pancake. While it fell short of a fire hazard, it wasn’t really edible. He sighed and slid the lightly smoking disk into the trash can. 

Pritchard sat down at the counter, smirking. He looked leagues better than he did the in the evening. Seeing him looking so ragged, vulnerable, and terrified had been difficult. Now he looked like himself, injuries notwithstanding. But even those looked better. The swelling in his arm was all but gone, and the red marks by his mouth were greatly faded. The cuts remained, and the black eye looked as bad as ever, but they didn’t seem as aggravated and swollen as before. 

“Was that supposed to be a pancake?” Pritchard asked, a smug, taunting edge to his voice. Yes. It seemed like he was back to himself.

“Yes. I got...distracted,” Jensen muttered.

“And your burner’s turned up way too high.” 

Jensen scowled at the offending burner. Was that too high? He turned it down. Pritchard seemed to know what he was doing in the kitchen. It was annoying. He waited a moment for the pan to cool down, then added more batter.

“Do you _know_ how to cook?” Pritchard asked.

“Of course I do. I’m just a little out of practice, I guess,” Jensen muttered. “How are you doing?” he asked, changing the subject, though it was a question worth asking.

Pritchard shook his head, his hair falling into his face before he pushed it behind his ears. He hadn’t put it back up yet. Adam was starting to wish he’d wear it down more often. He looked younger, less severe. “I’m fine. Remarkably fine, actually. I want to kick that guy’s _ass_ but…who knows. Maybe I’ll need a shrink in a month or two...” he trailed off. “Or maybe not. I think I might be getting used to this kind of bullshit...” 

Jensen shook his head with a faint smile. Well, that was worth something. “Get yourself kidnapped often?”

“I mean just the one other time. And I’ve gotten trapped hacking a few times. You know, you were there for one.”

“Wait, you’ve been kidnapped before?”

“It was a long time ago, very different circumstances…” Pritchard said, stifling a yawn, and failing to elaborate further. Jensen just stared at him in bewilderment. “Your pancake’s going to burn again.”

Jensen shook his head, and set about flipping his pancake. It was perhaps on the darker side of golden brown, but still perfectly acceptable. “It sounds like Artemis made some progress while you were asleep.”

Pritchard cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know. I had a million notifications when I woke up,” he said. Jensen was a little puzzled, seeing Pritchard flush slightly, his heartrate momentarily spiking, and pupils dilating? But it didn’t quite look like fear. What on earth...Pritchard sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, successfully masking any further attempts by Adam or his CASIE to read his expression. “Do I smell coffee?” 

Jensen nodded, serving up Pritchard both the first pancake and a cup of coffee. The hacker took them with almost sheepish thanks. 

Over breakfast they set about deciding on their plan about how to deal with Jordan. It was immediately obvious Pritchard didn’t just want justice, he wanted revenge. Not that Jensen could blame him. Though he wasn’t a big proponent of it either. Revenge tended to be a good way to get into needless trouble.

The forum post had become something of the talk of the dark web, much to Pritchard’s chagrin. He’d built a substantial reputation around his hacking handle, and was not happy having his face tied to it. At this point, even though he most likely wasn’t going to get killed, his career was in serious jeopardy. Jensen hadn’t even thought about most of the implications of Pritchard’s face being exposed so publicly--or semi publicly at least, since it was a dark web forum. But if someone like Kat could see it, it was far more than some niche hackers who now had the information about what he looked like, including potential clients, and worse, government agents or his enemies.

Once they finished breakfast, the day rolled by relatively peacefully. Jensen couldn’t help feeling a bit useless as the seeming swarm of hackers did their thing. He was good at breaking into computers and locks, but the kind of things they did were far out of Jensen’s wheelhouse. No matter how well he finessed missions and infiltrations, he felt like a blunt instrument compared to whatever was happening. 

Pritchard seemed downright delighted that other hackers had taken up his cause. Sometimes expressing surprise or dismay at people he knew getting involved, some of whom even seemingly disliked him. At least the hackers were doing an effective job making Jordan’s life a living hell, stranding him somewhere in Prague. The man posted impotently about how he was going to find everyone messing with him and do to them what he did to Pritchard, seemingly unaware that his victim had escaped, or covering it up. 

Artemis and Pritchard teamed up, trying to find him. Unfortunately, however, one of the side effects of shutting down his bank accounts, was it made his location harder to track. Artemis compromising his phone and computer only got them so far. It seemed he’d somehow manually masked his phone’s GPS signal. But they found he was in fact in Prague, and specifically in the one of the “naturals only” districts, but couldn’t get an exact location. 

A couple days later, as Jensen was doing dishes feeling...particularly useless, his phone started to ring. He didn’t even check before he answered, fully expecting to hear Artemis or Alex on the other end of the line, and was startled to hear someone entirely unexpected. 

_“Hi, Adam! I’m glad I got ahold of you! I had to bother MacReady to get your number,”_ Aria’s cheerful voice said on the other end of the line. Jensen blinked. He’d been so absorbed in the dark web hacker catastrophe, the reality that other people exist had started fading a bit.

“Oh, hi, Aria.” Jensen said a little hesitantly.

_“Is this a bad time? You sound a little distracted.”_

“No, it’s fine, just surprised to hear from you. What’s up?” Jensen replied. He noticed Pritchard look up from his typing, obviously listening in on the conversation. 

_“Okay, so. I’m sorry about the late notice? But I’m actually putting together a poker night. My sister’s in from out of town, figured I’d have some friends over so she could meet them! I was wondering if you could come! I figured with you being on leave and everything...”_ she trailed off, sounding a little nervous. Jensen blinked. This was really not the conversation he was prepared for today.

“Yeah? Sounds fun. When is it?”

_“Tomorrow evening. Around seven. Again, sorry about the late notice…”_

“Sorry, Aria. I have a friend from out of town staying...I shouldn’t ditch him,” Jensen said a little hesitantly. 

_“Oh, that’s fine! You can bring him with! The more the merrier!”_

“I’m not sure I’d want to inflict him on you. He’s kind of a dick,” Jensen said with a smirk.

Pritchard snorted from the couch. “I can _hear you,_ you know!” he said loud enough to probably be heard on the other end of the line. Aria laughed. 

_“That’s fine. Maybe he’ll get along with my sister, then!”_ she said.

The fact that she got his phone number from MacReady made him immediately suspicious that this was somehow part of MacReady’s order that Jensen “get a life.” He could imagine Aria being complicit in something that stupid. Then again, he could also imagine her coming up with this on her own, who could say. 

He was trapped, his attempt to use Pritchard as an excuse to escape backfired. Now if he turned her down, he’d just look like a dick. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, can’t, friend almost got murdered by some dark web asshole, I’m currently busy milling around the apartment uselessly being a half assed bodyguard while he and his hacker friends try to find ways to destroy the guy responsible?

_“Come on, Adam, it’ll be fun! I’d love to meet your friend. And it’s my birthday! Please…?”_

How could he say no?

“Okay. Where is it…”

_“Great! It’ll be fun I promise,”_ Aria said, sounding massively relieved. Jensen couldn’t help but feel he was missing some back story for this party, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He couldn’t help but think this asshole of a sister might in some way be involved. She rattled off the address, an apartment not too far from Jensen’s. Of course she also had to be quarantined off with the rest of the augs.

“What did you just agree to?” Pritchard asked, sounding amused.

“I guess we’re going to poker night tomorrow with one of my coworkers.”

“One of your Interpol coworkers?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to be playing for? Stickers?”

Jensen sighed. “Pritchard…”

The hacker chuckled. “I’m sure it will be fine. It’ll...be good to get out of this room for a bit,” he admitted after a beat. Jensen nodded. That was definitely true. He was relieved, he half expected Pritchard to bitch endlessly about it.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Eventually Jensen got to inflict another baseball game on Pritchard. The hacker groaned, having run out of things to do for now, and ended up watching, occasionally peppering Jensen with questions about the rules. It seemed ridiculous that he’d managed to so thoroughly avoid all baseball knowledge for this long. 

As a commercial break rolled around, Jensen found his mind wandering back to their escape. Back to the dread of what would happen to Pritchard if he didn’t find him. How the high of getting him back was so intense... Or remembering the feeling as they fled on the motorcycle, of his chest pressed against Pritchard’s back, arms wrapped around his waist. Pritchard was so pleasantly warm against the cold night air. It had been so satisfying, it made Jensen uneasy. What the hell was wrong with him?

He felt a gentle hand against his bicep, or where it used to be, fingers warm against his cool augment. He turned, raising a brow, finding Pritchard studying him.

“I know it might seem strange for me to be asking this but... Are _you_ okay?”

Jensen blinked, startled out of his thoughts, almost flustered. The fingers burned against his arm. Again, the surprising realization that he not only didn’t mind Pritchard’s touch, but seemed to _like_ it came to the forefront of his mind. Along with scraps of the filthy dream he’d had previously. He cleared his throat, shrugging.

“Fine, why wouldn't I be?” he asked, his eyes returning to the TV as the baseball game came back on, but he didn’t see a thing that was happening.

“You’ve just been...I don’t know. Subdued.”

“I guess I’m just feeling a little useless. Not much I can do to help until you know where Walker is,” Jensen said, trying to keep his voice even. He’d really hoped Pritchard wouldn’t notice how out of sorts he was. So much for that fantasy. 

He felt Pritchard’s thumb brushing a slow circle along his aug. It was gentle, concerned, and soothing. He didn’t want him to stop. So naturally Jensen shifted uncomfortably, and reached for his drink, causing Pritchard to pull his hand away. He took a long drink of soda, wishing it was something much stronger. 

By the time Aria’s poker night rolled around, Jensen was actually _immensely_ grateful to have an excuse to leave his apartment. He’d been essentially glued to Pritchard since the kidnapping. Both were wary of the bastard sending more men, though all signs pointed to them being safe for now. And Pritchard was constantly on his computer, working on ways to bring Jordan down. They left to buy groceries at one point, but that was about it. 

Fortunately, Pritchard looked relieved for an excuse to get out as well. Even he had his limits on being a hermit.

Aria’s apartment was a short walk from his own. The building was about as bad. Newer construction, perhaps, with a less oppressive feel, but just as much graffiti and debris littered around, as was to be expected in the district. He doubted many visited this part of town, she was brave to invite people over. Maybe that was the point, but Aria didn’t strike him as the type to try and teach naturals lessons in their own shitty behavior.

As they strolled down a stale hallway looking for the correct door number, Jensen heard someone call his name.

He turned to see Chang waving at him, a broad smile on his face. “Hey, Adam! I’m glad you could make it. Aria wasn’t sure she’d be able to get ahold of you, with your link busted and-” he stopped dead, spotting Pritchard, and doing what looked to be a triple take. “Holy shit it’s _you!_ ”

Pritchard blinked at the man. “Is it?”

“I saw, on the net- oh my god I was trying to get people on it but they all thought it was fake! I’m glad you’re uh, not murdered,” Peter stammered out. 

Pritchard’s face fell. “Great. I’m a celebrity now…”

“How did you escape-” Peter started, then glanced at Jensen, answering his own question, “Oh! That’s why you wanted the plates- Huh. Sorry I wasn’t more help…They’ve been on my ass...”

Jensen sighed, “Frank, this is my coworker, Peter Chang. He’s in the Cyber Crimes division,” Jensen explained. “And Peter could we...keep this quiet? For now?”

“Right, of course, but I have _so many questions._ ”

“How about later?” Jensen said firmly. 

Peter nodded. “Sorry, yeah, you’re right-” he stammered, just in time for the next door down to swing open. Aria leaned out, smiling as she spotted them. 

“I thought I heard you guys out here!” she said with a broad grin. “Come in!”

Aria’s apartment was downright cozy, especially compared to the building outside. It was pristinely clean, as Jensen anticipated, but decorated in warm, welcoming colors and a few seemingly amateur, but nice, oil paintings. Her kitchen counter and table were set with snacks and drinks, including a few cases of beer.

She welcomed the three in, and began introductions. First was her sister, Candice, a thin, haughty looking woman with a low voice and a bad attitude, who gave Jensen such a look of disdain when she thought he wasn’t looking that he caught Aria elbowing her in the ribs for it. Then was another of their coworkers, an analyst named Rita who Jensen was only vaguely acquainted with. Lastly was one of Aria’s friends, Sorina, a petite, objectively adorable woman with a bright glint in her eye. 

With introductions out of the way, the group milled about, helping themselves to snacks and beer. Jensen took one reflexively, though caught Pritchard’s sidelong glance. Frank, blessedly, didn’t say anything. It was just a beer, it was almost impossible for him to get drunk off the things anyway. 

“That’s quite a shiner, what happened?” Aria asked, walking up to Pritchard, gesturing to his black eye. His injuries were greatly faded, but there was really no hiding all of them. He still made sure to wear long sleeves to conceal the red around his wrists though. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“A reminder of why you should wear a full helmet when you ride a dirtbike,” he said, lying so smoothly Jensen’s CASIE almost didn’t catch it. 

Aria sucked in a breath, wincing. “Ouch, that’s rough. At least you had a helmet though! I took a dive off a four-wheeler without one once. Got a concussion so bad I woke up in the hospital,” Aria said with a laugh. 

“She was always such a jock,” Candice groaned. It seemed Aria wasn’t just being a lovingly teasing sibling when she implied her sister was a dick.

Candice turned her attention to Jensen again, this time with a critical look instead of a scathing one. She took a swig of her beer before pointing at him. “Weird eyes. Never seen anything quite like that. Kinda creepy,” she said casually.

“Thanks?” Jensen said.

Aria hissed out a horrified “ _Candy!_ ” at her sister’s comment. “What the hell! Adam, I am so sorry…”

Jensen chuckled, much to Aria’s surprise, shaking his head. “Well, at least she’ll say it to my face?”

“How is that better!?”

Candice smiled, nodding. “I think it’s always best to be forthright. Maybe you’re not so bad for an aug.”

“I take it you have a problem with augs?” Pritchard interjected, his voice faintly venomous. Jensen immediately felt the need to stop him from talking. But then again…

“Yeah, like anyone else with a brain. Why? You one?”

“Yes. And I assumed you were too. There’s no way those things on your chest are natural…You really should have paid for a better surgeon.”

Jensen should have stopped him, but the look of fury on Candice’s face, and the startled belly laugh from Sorina were priceless.

“ _What_ did you say to me?”

“Can you excuse us, for a second?” Aria said, grabbing her sister’s arm and dragging her to the bedroom.

“Hey, ow! You’re hurting me!” Candice whined as they disappeared into the room.

“P-Frank, seriously…” Jensen started to scold, before Sorina sauntered up to them, giving Pritchard a congratulatory pat on the arm

“That woman is such a piece of work,” Sorina said. 

When Aria and Candice reemerged, the latter looked much more subdued, and Aria had a triumphant smile. With that drama out of the way, they settled in to actually play poker. Aria set herself up as dealer, explaining the rules. And that whoever had the most chips at the end of the night got to take home all of the remaining beer. Though when she jokingly reminded the table, with a wink to Jensen, of “no using augs,” he noticed Pritchard’s eyes moving in a particular way, like he was deactivating something. What possible aug…?

The games progressed well, the tension present at the start of the night fading away, particularly as Candice got tipsy which, luckily, made her much friendlier. For a while, it seemed like every match came down to Pritchard and Aria, the local poker experts. Though Pritchard was extremely vague on where he got all his practice. Jensen got the feeling the answer may have been prison.

Augs didn’t come up again, probably to Aria’s relief. With the exception of a light hearted and joking discussion about whether or not Jensen using his lenses to hide his eyes counted as use of augs when Peter started staring him down looking for tells. They decided it was.

However, Pritchard’s partial supremacy at the table faded after a couple beers. It turns out, even if it was just beer, it was strong, it seemed Aria got the good stuff. Even Jensen was starting to feel it. Also, along with growing tipsy, Pritchard and Peter somehow, perhaps predictably, got on the topic of computer security, and started thoroughly distracting one another. 

“Are they even speaking English?” Candice remarked, tossing her cards as she folded. 

“I don’t know,” Aria admitted. “I was going to say no shop talk, but I’m not really sure what they’re saying.”

Eventually, the nerds found themselves booted from the table as they kept disrupting gameplay, and had their chips distributed amongst the less distracted guests. Predictably, they ended up borrowing Aria’s laptop, blathering on about god only knew what.

At one point Jensen glanced up and noticed Pritchard and Peter settled side by side on the couch, both closely examining the laptop balanced on Peter’s knees. Pritchard pointed at something on the screen, scooting even closer, before his hand came down to rest casually on Chang’s thigh. Peter went stiff for a moment, his face started to flush red, as he chuckled nervously, but not without a smile. He shot quick, darting quick glances at Pritchard who pretended not to notice, wearing his own faint wry smirk. Pritchard looked up, catching Jensen’s glare, and Jensen promptly looked back to his cards.

He stomped down...whatever feeling was welling in his gut. He felt inexplicably pissed. What was this, jealousy? At what? A pair of nerds flirting over computer security? If anything he should be impressed that Peter wasn’t shitting his pants, ejecting himself out of a window, and changing all the passwords in TF29 just to be on the safe side. _Especially_ since he knew who Pritchard was. 

Really, he was thankful Peter was willing to play ignorant at all. The thought that Pritchard, something of a known criminal, would be recognized by his police coworkers did not occur to him when he agreed to come. He hadn’t kept up with Pritchard’s exploits lately, but he doubted he’d kept his activities _completely_ off the radar. Then again, from working with cyber security, he understood how hard it was to build cases against certain hacker types. Usually ones like Pritchard weren’t worth the resources, especially when compared to the harm some of the more ham fisted, easier to catch ones did. Sometimes they were even assets. But having one fall into your lap…?

Or...at least have one with his hand in your lap.

Jensen and Sorina went out simultaneously. Sorina groaned in defeat while Jensen tried to act disappointed. Honestly winning a case of beer would be more troublesome than anything else. 

Any strange, internal dramas Jensen was having aside, the evening was all rather _nice._ For a while he was just having a normal night with friends, sitting around in a world that wasn’t so damn complicated. The problems consisted of running out of dip, Aria’s sister being a bit of a cow, and weird nerds flirting. No grave conspiracies, no one about to die, no worrying about people’s motives. Or at least not on any level that truly mattered. 

It was all so normal. Jensen missed normalcy…

In a surprise turnaround, ultimately Rita came out the winner. Everyone milled around for a time, chatting and helping put a dent in the number of beers Rita was going to have to lug home. Jensen grabbed another beer as he chatted with Sorina about growing up in Prague. He’d been absentmindedly drinking all evening. Was this his fourth? Fifth? But after a handful of sips, he found his drink being casually swiped from his hand. Pritchard leaned up against the kitchen counter next to him, casually sipping his stolen beverage.

Jensen’s gaze trailed from his suddenly empty hand, to the stolen beer, and Pritchard’s smug face. “Can I help you, Francis?”

Pritchard shrugged, giving him a wink, managing to smirk as he took another long drink. Jensen scowled at him, but got the message: he was being cut off. At least Sorina didn’t seem to notice, and just laughed at the exchange.

Eventually, everyone started off to their respective homes, or rather most of them headed towards the subway, back to the nicer parts of town. 

Jensen hesitated after seeing them all off, standing in the dark street. He decided to pull out a cigarette. With a faint buzz after a pleasant night, it sounded nice. He placed it between his lips, and started patting himself down for his lighter. When he couldn’t immediately find it, Pritchard swaggered over, his movements loose from one drink too many.

“Here,” Pritchard said. He slid in close in front of Jensen, and plucked the cigarette from his lips, placing it between his own. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it, taking a long, slow drag, before taking the cigarette from his mouth with those long fingers. He leaned in ever so slightly closer as he slowly breathed a cloud of smoke from between barely parted lips. 

The sweet smoke rose between them, curling up into the night air as Jensen watched, practically hypnotized. Pritchard turned the cigarette delicately in his fingers, returning it to Jensen’s mouth with a _smile._ That half lidded, wicked little look was enough to make Jensen’s blood run hot. He didn’t even realize his mouth was partly agape until he felt the cigarette against his lips. He closed his mouth, raising a shaky hand to the cigarette, swallowing.

_Holy shit…_

He could feel his face burning, and was grateful for the dark. Sultry was not a word he ever would have thought could possibly ever be used to describe Pritchard, but _fuck_. He felt like his brain just glitched out.

It was hard to say if Pritchard could tell the effect he’d had on him. The hacker just casually stole one of Jensen’s other cigarettes, lighting it for himself before tucking the pack back away in Jensen’s pocket. He stepped back and started smoking it like a normal person, but not without the faintest smirk.

Once Jensen regained his composure, they started off back to Jensen’s apartment. Not long into the walk, Pritchard stumbled, grabbing onto Jensen’s arm for support.

“I should _not_ have had that last beer,” Pritchard muttered as they strolled down the street. 

Jensen smirked. “You know, you didn’t have to drink it, Frank.”

“I wanted it to look like I actually wanted another. And y’know? It’s...hm. It’s so weird hearing you call me Frank,” Pritchard said with a snort. “It’s almost less weird when you call me Francis.”

“Okay, I can call you Francis.”

Pritchard just let out a long groan at that. “That’s not what-”

“Did you enjoy yourself? _Francis?_ ” Jensen interrupted.

Pritchard sighed, choosing to let it go. “Yeah. Nice people. Y’know I’d actually met Peter before? Not in _person_ obviously but, you know. Helped him do like. A uh. A crime, like. Ages ago. He was a good kid. Kinda high strung, but a good one. It’s a shame Interpol got their hooks in him.”

“You know, most people would consider that a better thing than going to prison.”

“It’s not a better thing than not getting caught at all.”

“I suppose...” 

As they walked Pritchard continued to hold onto Jensen’s arm, even though he soon regained his balance more than well enough to walk on his own. Jensen felt like he should shake the man off, but just didn’t want to. It was...nice.

Jensen realized he was just being willfully ignorant at this point. As if the sexual fantasies and sudden bolt of jealousy and whatever just glitched out his _entire_ brain weren’t signs enough. He enjoyed being touched by Pritchard, enjoyed being close to him. He was strangely attractive, and more fun to talk to than he remembered. Maybe he’d changed. Probably they’d both changed. And perhaps most importantly, Jensen trusted him. That was a rare commodity these days. Even among the people he’d just spent a shockingly normal evening with, he didn’t truly know if any of them were compromised. Hell, he didn’t truly know if the Collective were trustworthy, Alex included. But he _knew_ Pritchard was safe.

What was the harm in it? Why was part of Jensen just so...viscerally opposed? Other than the fact that it was _Pritchard_ which somehow automatically made it _weird._ But why? 

He supposed that ultimately it didn’t matter. He didn’t want a relationship with anyone. His life was too...he was constantly putting himself in danger. Constantly putting people around him in danger. It wasn’t worth it to indulge some stupid wet dream. Especially with someone he cared about. He’d be better off going to the Red Light District for that.

Still, he savored the moment, all despite himself. He wanted to slide his arm around Pritchard’s waist, pull him in close against the cold. Instead he walked stiffly, trying to ignore the pleasant contact against his arm, against his aug.

It was surprisingly late by the time they got home. Jensen unceremoniously deposited Pritchard on the couch, and headed off to his room. He’d let the hacker sleep there the last few nights, to speed his recovery, and so Jensen could keep a better eye on the door. But he was clearly back to normal, and there was no sign anyone was going to be coming after him any time soon. 

He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. When his head hit the pillow he noticed something. It smelled like Pritchard’s hair and his spicy yet faintly sweet aftershave. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent despite himself.

_Goddamnit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -BEHOLD. Jensen has finally removed his head from his ass.  
> -And we all know Pritchard woke up to like 40 texts for Artemis screaming that Jensen's not straight.  
> -Also I continue to have no idea what tags to use for this fic wehhh  
> -So Many Italics tags. If any are broken let me know. hngngng regretting formatting text chats that way you guuyysss  
> -Continued <3 to my lovely readers. Y'all rock


	12. Chapter 12

“I’M A FUCKING GENIUS,” Pritchard yelled, so loudly and so abruptly Jensen nearly dropped his bowl of cereal.

“Jesus, Francis, what-” Jensen snapped as Pritchard leapt to his feet.

“I FOUND the bastard! Paid in cash and used a fake name and I _still_ found you! You slimy little prick! HAH. FUCK WITH ME WILL YOU.”

Jensen ran a hand down his face with a sigh. “Well, that’s good news. Where is he?”

“Room 708 of the Scenic Towers Hotel. He’s booked there for the next four days,” Pritchard declared triumphantly.

“Great, and you and the other’s have compiled your case against him, right? You can ‘tip off’ Chang and get him taken down?” Jensen asked. After the party they wound up coordinating with Chang. He was able to convince his superiors the threat was real, and with the added proof from Pritchard that the man used to run the illegal, and horrific website, they agreed the he needed arresting. Pritchard and a small cabal of other hackers had been digging up every last scrap of dirt they could find on the bastard, and funneling it to Chang, who could make sure it was handled correctly and “came from legitimate sources.”

“Aren’t you curious how I found him?” Pritchard asked with a broad grin.

Jensen pressed his lips into a thin line. _Not really-_

Pritchard launched into his long winded explanation, not even waiting for a response. Something about hacking all the check ins for all the hotels in the district and cross referencing names and payments, and hacking security camera feeds. They’d, of course, found an image of Jordan earlier. 

Chang was going to have a hell of a time making all the information they gave him usable in the case...There were some special rules for tips and cybercrimes, but still. 

Pritchard strode to the kitchen, leaning over the counter, grinning almost maniacally at Jensen, a fire in his eyes he hadn’t seen before. “We can take him down.”

Jensen got the distinct impression the hacker wasn’t talking about Interpol or his other allies. “We?” he asked.

“Yes. Getting into that hotel would be child’s play for you.”

“If Interpol’s just going to arrest him-”

“I want to send a _message._ You said you’d owe me a favor for helping you, right? Well I’m calling in my favor. Now.”

Jensen looked the man over. Between his wild, clenched toothed grin and white knuckle grip on the edge of the counter, he didn’t look like a person in the frame of mind to make any kind of decisions. He’d never seen Pritchard like this before. It was almost frightening.

“Are you sure-”

“This is _personal,_ Jensen. I’m sure,” he said, his already rictus grin dissolving smoothly into a snarl.

Jensen sighed. “I’m not _agreeing_ just yet, but what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to help me send a message. So he knows he’s not safe, no matter where he is. And he knows _exactly_ who brought him down,” Pritchard hissed.

“I’m not going to just beat the shit out of him for you.”

“I didn’t say you needed to. Like I said, I just want you to send a message.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t give a _shit_ if it’s a _good_ idea. I already told him I was going to destroy him. I make good on my promises.”

Jensen shook his head. They’d initially kept the truth of Pritchard’s escape quiet, even as the forum post about his kidnapping continued to erupt. However, the day before, they discovered Jordan knew he was free, and Pritchard couldn’t help himself. He logged onto one of his accounts, and made a short post.

_“You know, Jordan Walker. It took me less than an hour to take down your demented, miserable little website. I didn’t even know who you were, I thought you were sick, but it was nothing personal._

_Now though. After this? I’m not just going to fuck with you._

_I’m going to destroy you.”_

If the whole affair was the talk of the dark net before, it became a veritable shitstorm after that. Jensen could have strangled the hacker for escalating the situation so badly. But it seemed to be working out regardless. 

Fortunately, before Jensen could be forced to make a decision, his phone began to buzz. Though when he saw the name pop up on the screen, he felt distinctly less fortunate. MacReady.

Jensen held up a finger, singnally for Pritchard to wait as he answered. The hacker obediently slid onto one of the stools, eyes narrowed at the phone.

_“Jensen, good news! I was able to get the higher ups to pull some strings, and turns out our specialist’s in Frankfurt for some sort of conference. They approved her taking an extra day to swing this way when the conference is over and come fix you up.”_

Jensen blinked, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And the timing...MacReady didn’t seem to appreciate his hesitancy.

_“You there? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and made plans or something. It was a hell of a lot of work swinging this for you, you know,”_ he snapped. 

“No, that’s great news,” Jensen said, trying to sound sincere.

_“Good. Be here 0800 on the dot on tomorrow. I don’t care how many cops get up in your shit along the way, make sure you’re here. On. Time. Maybe even consider actually taking the aug car for once. She’s doing us a HUGE favor here. You saw the wait list.”_

MacReady rattled off a list of things Jensen should bring to his appointment, and the call wrapped up. Jensen stood, chewing his lip, apprehensive. First, Koller gets spirited off to fucking _Brazil_ as soon as he tries to diagnose the problem. Then Pritchard narrowly escapes getting murdered days after Jensen contacted him, and then was somehow mysteriously tracked to Jensen’s apartment, despite mounting evidence that his foe was, in fact, an idiot. And now Interpol randomly decided to divert their expert his way, bumping Jensen up on the waitlist by _months_ as soon as it was revealed Pritchard wasn’t dead. 

He didn’t like it at all.

“Did you ever figure out how he found you?” Jensen asked. Pritchard’s face fell immediately.

“No. I haven’t. I don’t understand it. My laptop’s clean. None of my current clients have any connections to him. My only guess is he was able to somehow backtrace me when I accessed my security cameras during the first break in. But I have no idea _how,_ ” Pritchard said, his previous fury compounded with frustration.

“It sounds like I’m going to get to see Interpol’s aug engineer tomorrow.”

Pritchard opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. “That’s…”

“Interesting timing?” Jensen spat. Initially, Pritchard taking down Jordan’s sick website gave the man enough of a motive to go after Pritchard that they’d mostly set aside the timing as a coincidence. But this was getting to be a whole lot of coincidences. It’s almost like someone didn’t want third parties poking around in Jensen’s Infolink. “I think I will pay him a visit. And find how he tracked you down.”

Pritchard nodded. “And you’ll still deliver my message?”

“I suppose, since I’ll be in the neighborhood.”

Pritchard scoffed. “Good. I’ll get on contacting Peter, see when Interpol feels like making their move. We’d obviously want to get there first…” 

With that Pritchard was back to work, and Jensen was back to...stewing. He really hated sitting around waiting for the hacker shit to resolve. He felt so useless.

As bad as waiting around was, the next day came all too quickly. He didn’t savor the idea of submitting to a medical procedure with someone he strongly suspected did not have his best interests at heart. Between Alex and Pritchard, however, they decided it would be for the best if he played along. Then Pritchard would go in after to try and deal with the bug problem.

There was also the extremely slim chance MacReady just got lucky and they really did innocently decide to have him fixed up while the specialist was nearby. An entire country away, perhaps, but closer than her usual home base. 

He also did not like the idea of leaving Pritchard alone. And the hacker did not enjoy the idea of being babysat by a Collective agent. But ultimately he agreed to wait at a safehouse with Alex while Jensen was gone, then meet back at the apartment. They didn’t feel like this was a ploy to get at Pritchard again, but were unwilling to take the risk.

Jensen’s made the trip more or less unmolested by cops, and managed to arrive at TF29 early. The place was buzzing with activity as per usual. It was almost strange not having Aria near the elevator to wave hello, instead a new agent was posted there, looking painfully bored, but he was happy for Aria.

MacReady pounced almost the second Jensen walked in the door. It seemed the specialist was already there. He was shuffled off to the medlab by an unusually chipper MacReady. 

“Hopefully she’ll have you fixed up by this afternoon and you’ll be back to work by tomorrow,” MacReady said, Jensen frowned faintly.

“About that, I have a friend visiting from out of town…”

“Right, right, and you didn’t expect to be back on duty yet. Figures. I guess I _did_ order you to get a life,” MacReady grumbled. “For how long?”

Technically Pritchard didn’t really _have_ a departure date. Everything had set him back on the new hideout hunting game by quite a while, but that didn’t really matter. He had hoped they could figure out the bug problem before Jensen had to return to work. And the Jordan problem. He scrambled for a date. Surely they’d have to go after the hacker within the next four days while he was at the hotel. Stretching it beyond that would likely test MacReady’s patience. And Jensen’s. As for the bug problem, who could guess what that would take. “Just another five days or so.”

MacReady shook his head. “Damn. I’ll...see if I can make it work. But if it does, you have to use your own vacation time for that. Deal?”

Jensen nodded. That was one way to spend his vacation. But honestly, he never really expected to use any of it for anything other than business. 

“Ah, you must be Mr. Jensen, a pleasure,” the specialist greeted them with a faint Chinese accent as they walked in. She extended a stainless steel hand to Jensen, which he shook, their augs meeting with a slight clack, which seemed to unsettle MacReady. “My name is Dr. Ha. I’ve been reviewing your medical files. You have an interesting set of augments, I’m not surprised you’ve been having difficulty getting your issues resolved. Did you bring the diagnostics I asked for?”

“Yeah, they should all be on here,” Jensen said, handing over a thumb drive with both tests Pritchard ran on him. 

“No one was able to find the source of the problem?” Dr. Ha asked, scrolling through the files.

“The link threw an error, but then for the deep scan the error disappeared. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I guess he didn’t have the right equipment or something.” They’d decided the best course of action was to reveal that Pritchard had in fact run the scans. It seemed likely they already knew, or could at least assume that much. Even Peter figured that out. But they decided it was best that they pretend he knew nothing about the bug, or the cause of the intermittent error. Hopefully that would get them off his back, if they were involved. He was, after all, not a cybernetic engineer, it was perfectly plausible he’d be stumped.

With introductions concluded, MacReady excused himself, and Dr. Ha had Jensen sit in an operating chair. He didn’t even realize TF29 had one, he had to wonder what storage closet they’d dug it out of. 

“Since your previous diagnostics, are not coming up with much, I think the fastest way to get you in the field again is for me to just get in there and take a look at your Infolink. I managed to get ahold of a brand new, Sarif industries link. If worst comes to worst, I can swap out your old unit for the new one, although that would likely require a couple weeks of recovery, which I suspect your boss out there would not be keen on,” she said with a faint smile. “Or I can part it out for whatever I find is going on in there. We’ll just have to see.”

Jensen nodded, trying to suppress the anxiety roiling in his gut. Whatever this woman was about to do, he was sure Pritchard would fix it later. Still, he didn’t savor the thought. He closed his eyes as he felt the doctor accessing the port, trying not to grind his teeth. She began the countdown, and a few seconds later, the room faded away. 

In what felt like mere moments, but was probably hours later, the world came fading back into focus, Dr. Ha’s smiling face in front of him.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jensen! You’ll be happy to know, everything went perfectly,” she said, handing him a cup of water.

Jensen took it a little hesitantly, the world still foggy and swimming, but his throat was parched. He slowly brought it to his dry lips. Maybe it was more than a few hours…

“Firstly, I found a burnt out microprocessor in your Infolink. Probably a manufacturing defect of some kind. Unusual for Sarif tech, but not unheard of. It has been repaired, and I am confident it was the source of your problems. 

“I did some general maintenance as well. There was some incorrectly routed neural calibration that I fixed for you. You also had a miscalined muscle fiber in your left shoulder. Seemed like someone popped it back into place, but it had rubbed a slight groove into its neighbor which I repaired. Oh, and I regreased your Typhoon shutters, it should keep sand from getting in in the future…” she rattled off as Jensen tried to concentrate on what she was saying through the fog. He supposed her maintenance on the Typhoon was more elegant than Pritchard’s suggestion of cotton balls…

“I also took the liberty of flushing your Sentinel system. It needed it already, and you shouldn't have been due for a while. You need to take better care, maybe consult your medical staff when you’re sent on missions that might involve hazardous contact, and get some conventional protective gear, alright? And think about reducing your drinking and smoking. Your augs aren’t an excuse not to take care of yourself.

“Lastly, the bad news for you, is I found traces of some illicit substances in your system. I’m sorry, but I am required to report my findings to your superior officer,”

Jensen winced. Of course, the drugs Kat dosed him with.

“I can explain-” he said roughly, coughing half way through.

“You don’t need to explain it to me, you’ll have to talk with Captain MacReady. In fact he said he’d like to see you before you leave. But feel free taking your time. You were sedated for quite a while, it may take a few minutes to wear off fully.”

Jensen ran a hand down his face with a groan. Great. Just fantastic.

“That aside, you should be good as new, agent! I know it sounds like a lot, but trust me, I’ve seen far worse, this was all pretty routine,” she said with a smile. “We really should have better yearly maintenance programs set up for our augmented agents but, well, I don’t need to explain to you how troublesome that’s been lately.”

Jensen nodded, finishing off his water, the world finally starting to settle back into place. 

“Any questions for me?”

Jensen shook his head. It seemed she was very thorough. The issue with the muscle fiber didn’t show up on the standard diagnostics, but she found it anyway. Yet she also didn’t find, or say anything about the frequency modulator after manually inspecting his Infolink. He didn’t like having his suspicions about her confirmed, but even if he had questions, she wouldn’t be the person to ask…

She checked a few basic vitals, had Jensen reactivate his Infolink, and test it out on a handful of different frequencies before she declared him fit for duty. 

Eventually, Dr. Ha excused herself, and a nurse brought Jensen a second cup of water as he shook off the sedation. He was going to need a minute to compose himself before facing MacReady. His head felt full of cobwebs, the way it usually did after this sort of thing. It always seemed like the longer he was under, the worse it was.

Pritchard and Alex were probably worried, but he didn’t want to risk texting them while still in TF29 headquarters, regardless of how secure his phone was supposed to be. So, before he was really back to normal, he decided to drag himself upstairs to go see MacReady. Besides, might as well get it over with. The man called him in the second he knocked on his office door.

“So. Where there glow sticks?” MacReady asked, his tone deadly serious, before Jensen even had a chance to close the door behind him.

Jensen raised a brow, walking to stand across the desk from his boss, sure he misheard him. “Sorry, what?”

“At the rave you apparently attended,” MacReady said, still trying to sound serious as he flipped through what Jensen could only assume was the doctor’s report, now clearly struggling to keep a straight face.

“I can explain-”

Finally the man just cracked, laughing. “Christ, Jensen. Honestly, I know I told you to loosen up, but don’t you think dropping E and...whatever the hell this other thing is--I didn’t even know there was an aug party drug--was taking it a bit far?”

“I didn’t intend-”

“Do the aug arms let you do extra neat dance moves or something?”

Jensen just glared.

“If someone asked me to guess what agent I’d have to lecture for partying too hard, you would have been my absolute _last_ guess,” he said with a laugh, obviously completely delighted. This was the first time he’d seen MacReady so entertained, too bad it was at Jensen’s expense. “I can’t even imagine you-” he cut himself off, cackling.

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose. He was prepared for some angry dressing down about irresponsible agent behavior. Not Mac pissing himself at the notion of Jensen getting high at a rave.

“I was-”

“Did you at least have fun? Finally...loosen up a little?” MacReady snorted.

“No.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Look, Jensen, I honestly don’t care what you do with your free time. I really don’t. As...hilarious a notion as it is. But, we’re a clean force. Unless you’re undercover and it’s necessary, we expect you to keep it legal. So I have to tell you not to do it again.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, Sir.”

MacReady shook his head, still looking delighted, but let the topic pass. “You said you needed another week? Was that correct.”

“Five days. But, yes, but if I’m needed sooner I can-”

“No, that works. We have an op coming up we could use you on, but the timeline’s been pushed out a bit so we’re good. So you still have a chance to actually loosen up a little. Without the MDMA this time, right, Jensen?”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

MacReady dismissed him, Jensen clenching his jaw as he left the office, the sound of MacReady’s laughter following him out the door. He noticed a few agents exchange confused glances, but Jensen ignored them.

Jensen checked the time as he stood in the elevator. The procedure really had taken a while. He hastily sent off a text message to Pritchard as soon as he was free of the building. Hopefully they weren’t too worried.

Jensen hurried back to his apartment, and found Pritchard and Alex casually waiting inside. To her credit, Alex didn’t look like she wanted to kill Pritchard yet, which was good. But she did look relieved to finally see Jensen.

“Alright, looks like my babysitting duties are over with,” Alex chuckled, while Pritchard scoffed from the couch. This time instead of fiddling with his laptop, he was fiddling with a small device Jensen hadn’t seen before.

“Thanks again, Alex,” Jensen said.

“No sweat, man. Frank and I actually had a pretty good chat,” she said, which elicited nothing more than another mildly disgruntled huff from Pritchard. Jensen raised a brow, but neither seemed keen on elaborating. “And actually, thanks to his idea? We might be able to spin this bug thing to our advantage.”

“Really?”

“I think I’ve found a way to modify the relay so you can turn it on and off at will, like any number of your other augments,” Pritchard said flatly. “Though it will likely require another visit to the oh-so-lovely Kat to get the requisite materials. It probably won’t be cheap either,” Pritchard grumbled, still messing with the object. Was it a headset?

“Yeah, this way we can try and start feeding them misinformation. I can still contact you with what we want to give them over your compromised link, and we can communicate off the grid for the real important stuff.”

“You’re right, that could be really useful,” Jensen said, which was a massive understatement. The possibilities were endless, if they played their cards right.

With the good news delivered, and Alex no longer needed, she pulled Jensen aside, leading him to the bathroom to talk privately for a moment. And so she could ultimately make her exit out the window.

“I tried to talk to Frank about joining the Collective again,” she said in hushed tones.

Jensen folded his arms. “Yeah, how’d that go for you?”

“Honestly? Better than I thought. I was a bit surprised he rejected us before. I figured hearing a bunch of Collective members wanted him after what you two did to Blade would stroke his ego and get him to join...but really I think seeing how bad it is here might be breaking him down a little. You should talk to him, I think you might have more luck than I did.”

“Why would I fair any better?” Jensen asked. Alex gave him a look like he was the dumbest person alive. “What? I figured I’d have better luck getting him to help me out with the link thing, not join the Collective. I don’t see how me asking would be different,” Jensen said, holding his arms open in a helpless gesture.

“Seriously?” Alex rubbed her forehead, shaking her head. “You know what? Whatever, I’ll let you figure that shit out on your own. Still, he’s a good hacker, he’d be a valuable asset. I mean, at least he probably won’t work _against_ us if you’re with us, but I really don’t like having wild cards like him around. And I don’t think I’m the only one.”

“I can ask him, but I don’t think he’s going to change his mind,” Jensen said, Alex nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just. Keep me posted. I’ll see you around,” she said, cracking open the bathroom window, and activating her mirror shield before disappearing outside. 

Jensen shook his head as he walked back into the living room. “Any update on the hacker situation?”

“Good news and bad news. The bad news is your colleagues are going to arrest the dirtbag this evening. Sounds like they have the raid planned for fairly late at night, to make sure he’s in. He tends to head out for dinner, but isn’t big on the night life. Since you still have a bug in your head, we can safely assume they’ll be able to track you if you try to slip in beforehand, and if, as we fear, he’s somehow involved in your...whatever nonsense you’re trying to uncover, that could be problematic.

“The good news is I’m a genius, and have figured out a way to mask your link’s signal and spoof it so it looks like you’re in the apartment with me all night. And we can use a normal ear piece for communication. This will keep them from making a move on your apartment while you’re out, and absolve you of any meddling. It’s a win, win.”

“Pritchard, I’ve always admired how humble you are…” 

“I’m sure. So, does it sound like a plan?”

“Seems like you have it all figured out. I’m in.”

* * *

_“Isn’t this just like old times?”_ Pritchard said cheerfully in Jensen’s ear. It was almost bizzare wearing an earpiece again, he was so used to the sounds vibrating directly into his skull, this sounded dull and fuzzy by comparison. 

“Yeah, so does that mean you’re going to start being a smug dick?”

_“You wound me. Implying I’m not_ still _a smug dick,_ ” Pritchard scoffed, Jensen snorted a stifled laugh, he was not expecting that response. At least he wasn’t anywhere he could be discovered quite yet. He’d made his way to the roof of the hotel, and was prying open an air vent. The lobby had pretty good security, and considering TF29 was going to be raiding soon, they really didn’t want Jensen being present on _any_ security cameras, or devices...or really any trace of his existence. Pritchard even pulled out a handkerchief for him to disguise his face with, which Jensen declined. It would have to be one hell of a disguise to do him any good. He just had to avoid being spotted.

_“You know, you’re the reason I make all my landlords show me the ventilation system for whatever places I rent. They all look at me like I’m nuts. You’re also the reason I invested in a heavy duty welder to take care of the vents whenever I’m squatting somewhere,”_ Pritchard said.

“Good to know, Pritchard, but I don’t need the running commentary in my ear while I’m in there. I won’t be able to respond much soon without my subvocalizer either.”

_“Yes, yes, just...hurry up, will you? I think they’re on their way.”_

“What?!”

_“You have time, just go!”_

Jensen sighed, sliding into the air duct, falling a short distance with a resonant clang. He got down on his hands and knees, beginning to crawl. The duct angled downwards, then doubled back, leaving him traveling for what felt like ages. It was times like this he was immensely grateful his knees weren’t real anymore...

_“Okay, good, visual signal’s still clear,”_ Pritchard said. He was using Jensen’s eyes to see, streaming a live feed to himself. He’d been worried that the interference from the building would cut him off without the boost from the link. _“Do you enjoy spending all your time in air ducts? I’m honestly curious,”_ Pritchard mused.

_“Pritchard,”_ Jensen hissed.

_“Okay, okay. Take the next left, it should start heading down. If I’m right, you should pop out close to the stairs.”_

Sure enough, as Pritchard promised, his path led him to a vent cover directly adjacent to the stairs. Jensen quickly scanned for cameras before slipping out of the vent and into the stairwell. 

_“I have no idea what the vent situation is like in his room, but the door code is 8739, might just be the simplest approach,”_ Pritchard muttered in his ear as Jensen made his way down. This was proving to be almost as anticlimactic of a mission as robbing TF29. Jensen was really, _really_ looking forward to getting back to work…He shouldn’t have claimed he needed so long. 

It seemed all the cameras were in the lobby and essentially nowhere else, allowing Jensen to just stroll casually down to Jordan’s room. As Pritchard suggested, he just punched in the door code. 

The room was dark as Jensen stepped inside. It was a damn nice hotel room for someone who just had all their bank accounts drained. A full kitchenette stood near the door, and a small wall stood separating the kitchen from the rest of the room. Jensen activated his mirror cloak, just to be safe as he crept forward.

The precaution proved wholly unnecessary as he found Jordan sitting on his bed, back to the door, wearing headphones, completely oblivious to Jensen’s presence. As he crept forward he could see over the man’s shoulder. He was on the forum thread he had started at the beginning of this mess.

_“Oh my god, stay right there, I have to-”_ Pritchard said in his ear, sounding almost ecstatic. Jensen froze in place, frowning. 

A few moments later a new message popped up on the forum. A picture of the back of Jordan’s head, the view from Jensen’s own eyes, with a message of “behind you.”

Naturally, Jordan turned in a panic and started scrambling off the bed, forcing Jensen to grab him.

“Seriously?” Jensen spat, he could hear distant laughter, like it was being picked up over the mic unintentionally.

_“I’m sorry, I had to...it was too good to pass up.”_

Jordan flailed as Jensen ultimately grabbed him by the shirt. He was a remarkably ordinary looking man. Jensen wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Mid to late thirties, white, brown hair, the kind of face that would disappear into a crowd. His hands clawed desperately at Jensen’s nearly impervious augmented grip, before he started reaching for a pocket.

He pulled a small knife out of his pocket, the blade unfolding with a click as he raised. Jensen just sighed, grabbed it with his synthetic hand, and twisted it out of his grip, tossing it aside. He then transformed his hand, his arm whirring and whining as it revealed the long blade. He held it to the man’s neck.

“Mine’s bigger.”

“W-what do you want from me? Don’t kill me!” Jordan whimpered.

“How did you find Nuclearsnake,” Jensen demanded in a rough growl. Saying the name out loud was almost physically painful. 

“I, I’ll tell you if you promise not to kill me!” the man stammered.

“Fine. But if I find out you’re lying,” Jensen grumbled, pressing the blade a little closer to the man’s throat, even if he had no intention of following through on the threat, it worked. 

“S-some people c-contacted me. Said they knew who’d fucked up my site. G-gave me his name and location and stuff. W-when my boys found out he’d gotten out of Detroit, I told the people. They tracked him here for me.”

“Who were these people?” Jensen asked, dragging the man slightly closer, looming over him.

“I-I don’t know! They didn’t say! I didn’t ask! I swear!”

“Why did they know to contact you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking f-for him for months! Put the word out to some people. M-must just be more of his enemies,” Jordan stammered.

_“Great, I’m not really sure what else we were expecting,”_ Pritchard muttered in Jensen’s ear. _“Put me on speaker.”_

“You. Stay put,” Jensen barked, releasing the man’s shirt, but leaving the blade to his neck. Jordan sat on the bed, frozen in terror as Jensen reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out his phone, obligingly putting it on speaker for Pritchard.

_“Hello, Jordan Walker. You’re not the only one who can hire proxies you know…”_ Pritchard’s voice taunted over the line. _“It’s me, your friend, Frankie. Your sick little empire is coming to an end, and I wanted you to know you have me to thank for it. I told you I would destroy you, and so here we are. The authorities will be there any minute._

_“If you are ever released from whatever dark hole they stick you in. I hope you remember. Don’t. Fuck with me,”_ he hissed, his voice absolutely dripping venom.

“Okay, okay! I-I swear, I’m sorry. I’ll never- I’ll never-”

_“Look at you, you’re so fucking pathetic. Oh. And if you know what’s good for you? You wont mention you heard from me, or saw my proxy ever. Not to the cops, not to your cell mates, understood?”_

“Y-yes, I-I didn’t see anything. G-got it.”

_”Good. You’ll live to regret it if you go back on your word. Looks like the cops have arrived. Leave him, he’s not worth any more of our time,”_ Pritchard spat, before the line went silent. 

Jensen pocketed the phone with a faint nod. He eyed Jordan a moment longer. He was truly a disgusting person. The kind who quite literally fed on human suffering. Who could say how many lives his website ruined. Or how many people were hurt or possibly even killed making its content.

And what he did to Pritchard. What he _planned_ to do to Pritchard...

Jensen deactivated Pritchard’s view feed from his eyes, and flicked off his headset for a moment, staring down at the man. He slowly retracted the blade from his neck, Jordan staring up at him, shaking, his eyes wide. Jensen clenched his fist, and slammed it into the man’s jaw, sending him topping over, and straight off the end of the bed. He let out a cry, clutching his now bleeding face. 

He’d told Pritchard he wasn’t going to beat the shit out of him for the hacker. But...that one was for Jensen’s own benefit.

He turned, striding quickly from the room, quickly reactivating the feed and his earpiece.

_“You there? I lost image for a second.”_

“Yeah, I’m here. On my way out.”

_“God that was hot,”_ Pritchard’s voice muttered, again distant, like it wasn’t supposed to be picked up by the mic at all. Did he hear that right? Jensen bit back a smirk. 

“Come again?”

_“Good job on the mission,”_ Pritchard said without missing a beat. Jensen snorted, _smooth recovery…_

“Anything for you, Francis,” Jensen purred in a low voice. He couldn’t help himself. He’d been stubbornly ignoring any semblance of attraction to the nerd but...what was the harm in a little completely inappropriate flirting? 

He heard Pritchard clear his throat. _“J-Just...get clear of the building. Before your coworkers see you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This went _way too many chapters_ without Francis declaring himself a genius. this has been remedied   
> -again shoutout to my readers. Y'all rock. Your comments give me life


	13. Chapter 13

Pritchard reviewed his list of supplies for what felt like the hundredth time as Jensen knocked on Kat’s door. With Interpol and Jordan dealt with, all that remained was the bug, which left Pritchard with a difficult engineering challenge, and a list of strange parts he needed. Luckily, this time they at least didn’t all have to be Sarif tech.

The second the door slid open, to his surprise, tears seemed to well in Kat’s eyes. She surged forward, hugging them both. She then too a step back, holding Pritchard’s face between her hands, leaning in to inspect him. “Oh sweetie I’m so glad you’re okay, oh, God, what did they do to you. Come in, come in. Honey-” she cooed, her hands sliding down and grasping both of Pritchard’s wrists, pulling him into the apartment.

The hacker stumbled in, too surprised to resist. She sat him down on the bed, petting his hair a few times and running a gentle thumb across his black eye with a _tut._

“Look at what they did. You wait, I’ll bring you some herbal tea, my Nana swore by it-” she said, hurrying off to the kitchen. Pritchard blinked, glancing to Jensen who stood next to the door looking bemused.

“I’m fine, really...we came to get some parts-”

“Shh! You’ll take my Nana’s tea and you will like it,” Kat said as she slammed a kettle of water on the stovetop. Pritchard heard a wheeze that was probably a stifled laugh from Jensen, if the look on his face was any indication.

“What...Is this some straight person fetish thing I’m not aware of?” Pritchard asked. Jensen made an open handed gesture, at a loss, while Kat chuckled.

“I’m sorry, I’m just used to giving orders. I am making tea though. I don’t know if Adam told you, but I have...some strong feelings about the guy who grabbed you. Who you two brought down. I was so happy to read about his shattered jaw in the arrest report. Though he deserved far worse,” she said, her voice growing grim.

“Shattered jaw?” Pritchard asked, blinking. He hadn’t actually bothered to read the full report once he got confirmation the arrest happened. He noticed Jensen shifting his weight, lens covered eyes scanning the room, suspiciously _not_ looking in Pritchard’s direction, and not surprised about the injury. Pritchard raised a brow. 

Kat laughed. “Yeah, said they found him alone on the floor with a shattered jaw. Like anyone would believe that. Guess they hit him hard enough to knock out a few teeth too.”

Given his own experience he was happy to blame the police for being... overly enthusiastic while arresting. But that much damage without alleging a struggle? He continued eyeing Jensen, who continued to find the room decorations fascinating. Pritchard _had_ lost visual for a few good seconds there right before Jensen left...

Yeah. Jensen totally shattered the bastard’s jaw. 

Pritchard couldn’t keep the smirk from finding its way onto his lips.

“So. What brings you boys in?” Kat said, leaning up against the counter as she waited for the kettle to boil. 

“We’re bringing back the calibrator, and Franci- Frank has a list of items we need,” Jensen said. 

Kat nodded, striding over to Pritchard. “You have a list?” she asked, before unceremoniously plopping down on his lap, slinging an arm around his shoulders. He went rigid, blinking.

“You know... Still gay…” he said, she chuckled, patting his cheek.

“I know, Honeybean. Where’s the list?” she asked, fiddling with Pritchard’s ponytail. 

Pritchard grumbled as he heard Jensen quietly snickering. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the pocket secretary he uploaded the list onto, and handed it over. Kat took it, standing finally as the kettle started to hiss. She read through the list, barely raising her eyes as she took the kettle off the burner the second it started screaming, and began filling a few mismatched mugs with hot water.

She let out a slow whistle, dropping seemingly hand bundled teabags into each mug. “This is certainly a list.”

“Can you get everything?”

She nodded, scrolling back through again. “I have a couple of the basics here. But one or two of these are going to be a challenge to get. I have some sources that I’m pretty sure will pull through for you. But it will take time. Though I will say, when I offered to comp your parts if you took that bastard down, I was expecting...a chip. Not a list.”

Jensen nodded. “Understandable. Though we do have the microprocessor to barter with, if that helps,” he said, pulling an antistatic baggy out of his coat pocket, containing the unused microprocessor.

She raised a brow as she walked a mug of tea over to Pritchard, then plucked the baggy from Jensen’s hand, replacing it with tea. She looked at the processor through the baggy. “Didn’t need it after all?”

“Long story,” Jensen said.

“You boys have had an eventful week. Well, with this and fucking the guy up...I guess we’ll call it even. Assuming no unforeseen price jumps.”

“Sounds good,” Jensen said.

Pritchard sniffed his tea cautiously. It smelled nice. Earthy and a little tangy. Though he was a little dubious about tasting it, considering what happened to Jensen when he took this strange woman’s drinks.

“What’s in this?” Pritchard decided to ask.

Kat launched into a long list of ingredients, mostly herbs and spices and other normal things to find in tea...except for the “cannabis trim.” Jensen scowled looking down at his tea, muttering something about it being legal, while Pritchard shook his head, smirking at the fact that “Nana’s medicinal tea” had weed in it. He shrugged and took a sip. It was actually surprisingly good. Jensen eyed him, his expression hard to track through the lenses.

“What? She said it would be a while till we got our pieces. It’s not like I have anything better to do…”

“Don’t worry, it’s not enough to fuck you up. Just enough to relax,” she said, swaggering over to Jensen, sipping her tea. She placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in with a smile. “And you _really_ need to learn how to relax…”

She leaned in further, whispering something into Jensen’s ear, sending a darting look at Pritchard, a wicked smile on her lips. When she pulled away Jensen reddened slightly, also glancing Pritchard’s direction, looking flustered.

“I think I’ll pass on the tea, thanks,” he grumbled, holding the cup out for Kat to take back, which she did with a sigh. 

“I will grab you the parts that I do have, give me a moment.”

With that she set aside the mugs and opened the secret passage to her supply room, disappearing inside. Jensen strolled over to Pritchard, sitting on the bed next to him, resting his elbows on his knees with a sigh. He smirked faintly, jerking a thumb at Pritchard’s mug.

“Enjoying your tea?”

“It’s quite good, actually…” Pritchard said, lowering his voice before he spoke again. “I don’t understand this woman at all.”

“I’m right there with you.” 

As Pritchard finished his tea, Kat reemerged with a couple items. She promised to get back to them about the others, and sent them on their way. 

The sun was setting as they made their way back to the apartment. They got stopped once, some cop yelling at them in Czech for no discernible reason. Pritchard couldn’t be bothered to use his translation app to tell what the asshole was saying. But after checking their papers he let them on their way.

They grabbed some groceries, and settled in for...waiting for Kat’s call, he supposed. As Pritchard cooked dinner, Jensen checked his email, a scowl settling over his face.

“She thinks it’s going to be as much as a month to get the other parts,” he said.

Pritchard groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding…”

Jensen shook his head. “If you have to go back to Detroit, I’d understand--”

Pritchard sighed. “No. No...it’s fine. I’d just have to come back here in a month to install the damn thing anyway. It’s not like I have an urgent need to get back there.”

Jensen nodded. “I still owe you one.”

“I thought we were square after you went to threaten Jordan for me.”

Jensen shook his head. “Putting you on speaker phone was barely a favor. Seriously.”

"And you broke his jaw…"

"I don't know what your talking about," Jensen said, _wholly_ unconvincingly.

Pritchard nodded, with a faint smile. “Thanks, either way…”

That evening they found themselves once again on the couch, bored. This time they decided to watch a movie, finding one neither was excited about, but both agreed on. As it turned out, while Kat’s tea didn’t really get him high, as she promised, it _was_ extremely relaxing. To the point that he fell asleep not long into the film. 

He woke to the feeling of someone ever so gently stroking his hair. It was an idle, listless unthinking motion, but one that soothed all the tension out of Pritchard’s body. He was laying on the couch now, his head on a throw pillow, leaned up against Jensen’s augmented thigh. He wondered when the pillow got there. Perhaps he’d wound up with his head in Jensen’s lap, and the man decided to spare him from the hardness of his augmented legs with the pillow. 

As Pritchard stirred ever so slightly, the caress immediately stopped. He frowned internally, but continued to feign sleep. Though he wondered why he bothered, if Jensen used his CASIE he’d be able to tell he was awake. Eventually he decided to just get up, and shuffle off to the bathroom without a word. He didn’t really need to go, but he just wanted to be...away.

Pritchard had been growing increasingly frustrated the last few days. He didn’t know what to do with Jensen’s behavior. Using the CASIE to flirt seemed like cheating, but nonetheless, he’d made a few passes at Adam that seemed to have the desired effect. The man had even said or done a number of flirtatious things himself. But it always stopped abruptly, just short of having any meaning. Jensen would just close himself off, leaving Pritchard wondering where he stood.

It was hard to know what the social aug readout on someone lying to themselves would look like, but Pritchard suspected he was there. He didn’t think Jensen had any intention of making good on any of the flirting. If it was anyone else, Pritchard would assume they were just cruelly fucking with him. But in this case? It seemed more likely that Jensen was just an idiot. Too attached to his quest to get involved. And not worth Pritchard’s time. 

He shook his head, feeling a headache coming on. It seemed he’d slept with a nasty kink in his neck. He rummaged through his travel bag looking for his painkillers, and stumbled across his condom stash...condom hoard? Jensen was right giving him shit. Why the hell _were_ there so many in there? He liked to bring them just in case when he traveled; it could sometimes be hard to find ones large enough in drugstores, and he thoughtlessly grabbed too many, but not _this_ many. He pulled a handful out, and dug deeper, finding the ones on the bottom were all expired. 

Then he remembered. The last time he’d used the travel bag for an actual trip was a fair while ago. He’d struck up a relationship online with another hacker. It was...an exceedingly rare situation for him. Usually his relationships consisted of hookups on dating apps, along with maybe a second or third date before they discovered they couldn’t stand each other. Though he did have the numbers of a few booty calls on his phone. They got along fine as long as they didn’t talk much…He was even vaguely friends with one of them. But they could never actually date.

This guy had been different though. Pritchard really grew attached; they chatted for months. The guy was shy, and worried Pritchard wouldn’t find him attractive when they decided to meet up, even when Pritchard assured him he actually usually _prefered_ men that weren’t “conventionally attractive.” They always had so much more character. But given their naturally suspicious natures, they didn’t exchange many pictures, and definitely no lewd ones. Ultimately his fear was completely unfounded. He was of Vietnamese ancestry, short, and a little chubby, which he felt all counted against him. But Pritchard thought all that did was make him cute, with his beautiful eyes and bubble butt. When he actually cleaned himself up a little, he was even handsome. 

The truth of the matter was, it seemed like _Pritchard_ was the one who needed to worry about being unattractive. While he packed expecting a romantic week with a man he’d grown so terribly fond of, it ended up being a lot of nothing. Pritchard sucked him off a few times, and got an extremely lackluster handjob, but the guy just withdrew. He left Pritchard sleeping on the couch, and he ultimately ended up leaving early, his self esteem pretty well crushed. 

If the guy just wasn't ready to be physical, or wasn't interested in that kind of relationship, Pritchard would have understood. He liked the guy, and wanted to have sex with him, obviously, but there were other things in life. In relationships. But the guy insisted he wanted to, and indeed they’d exchanged more than a few graphic messages before hand. But in person he behaved so… Disinterested. Aloof even.

After Pritchard left, the guy sheepishly apologized for such an awkward and disappointing trip. And then he proceeded to completely ghost him.

Pritchard still encountered him on the net from time to time. They ran in similar circles, after all, it’s how they met. Rumor had it he got a girlfriend. He _had_ said Pritchard was the first man he’d ever been with. It made him wonder if the guy just overestimated his attraction to men generally, and it wasn’t just a disinterest in Pritchard specifically. That would be an easier story to swallow at least. He’d never had put so much effort in to get a guy hard before or since...He claimed it was just nerves. Pritchard wasn’t so sure.

He scowled down at the bag, sorting out the expired condoms and tossing them in the trash, before stuffing the much more reasonable handfull back inside. It was still a lot, but as Pritchard had explained, he really just grabbed and shoved in his haste.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d once again made a fool of himself. Flown himself out to go meet with a guy who feigned interest but had no follow through. Again hurting himself following some absurd notion of a relationship. Hell, Jensen would probably also ghost him once this was over, same as the last guy. He'd done it before. He’d probably even justify that it was for Pritchard’s own safety. 

The idea of that cycle of bullshit repeating again...hurt. He cared for Adam. He Probably cared a little too much. But there was no way he’d have an outcome from this whole thing that wouldn’t hurt. The best thing he could do would be to start distancing himself now, before he wound himself up even more. And stopped letting Jensen play whatever stupid games…

Pritchard couldn’t stay here for another month. He had to find somewhere else to stay. He’d still help Jensen with the bug, but he didn’t have to sleep on the man’s couch in the meantime.

A twinge of guilt registered when he thought of Jensen’s drinking problem. But he shook it away. He wasn’t Jensen’s sponsor. That _really_ wasn’t his responsibility. Besides, he could always still be supportive while living elsewhere.

Artemis was pushing him to just tell Jensen how he felt. The woman absolutely blew up Pritchard's phone when she found out he "wasn't straight," which admittedly gave Pritchard a glimmer of hope. And telling him _would_ be the simplest answer. But it would also most likely leave him in an excruciatingly awkward situation. Almost no part of him thought Jensen would go for it. Even if he _was_ into men and was at least _vaguely_ interested in Pritchard, there was just...too much baggage with them. It would never happen. Then Pritchard would be stuck there for a month dealing with the tension and fallout. He couldn’t deal with that.

He splashed water on his face and grabbed his painkillers before heading back out. The moment he sat back down on the couch he grabbed his laptop, not even sparing Adam a glance. Surely there was an apartment that would let him stay for a month…

* * *

Pritchard scowled down at his suitcase, wondering how on earth he’d fit everything in the first time. It seemed like an impossible puzzle. Jensen appeared from the outside with a bag of groceries, and eyed Pritchard with a faint scowl.

“Change your mind about going back to Detroit?” he asked, setting the groceries on the counter. 

Pritchard shook his head. “No. Just found an apartment complex nearby. The landlord agreed to let me use a unit for the month at a pretty good rate…”

Jensen blinked at him. “What? Why?”

“It seemed silly to live on your couch for a month,” Pritchard lied, rotating a piece of equipment in his bag, trying to make everything fit. So much for his Tetris skills...

“It seems silly to waste your money…Is it about privacy? I’ll be heading back to work the day after tomorrow. That should help…” Jensen said, starting to unload the groceries into the refrigerator and cupboards. “I could grab a room divider or something, too, if you need.”

“It’s not just that. It’s fine, really,” Pritchard said, sitting on the floor with a sigh. Here he’d thought Jensen would be _relieved_ to have him off his couch. He wasn’t expecting to fight him over it. Unless...Unless Jensen _wanted_ him to stay.

He honestly hadn’t put much thought into that contingency.

“Seriously, it wouldn’t be a burden. It’s dumb for you to pay for a place while doing _me_ a favor,” Jensen said. Pritchard eyed him. Or maybe it was just guilt.

“Look, it’s fine. I just need to get out of here.”

“Need to?” Jensen asked, rounding the counter, half the groceries forgotten in the bag, his lenses retracting as he eyed Pritchard.

“Yes!” Pritchard snapped, growing irritated despite himself. This wasn’t Adam’s fault. Okay. It was _partially_ Adam’s fault. The guy had a goddamn CASIE aug. There was _no way_ he didn’t know Pritchard was into him by now. The situation should have been self explanatory. He should have wanted the guy with an awkward crush on him out of the apartment.

Then again Pritchard’s own CASIE was leaving him a little lost explaining Adam’s behavior. On the one hand he saw indications he was interested. On the other, he acted as aloof and disinterested as ever. He could only conclude regardless of any attraction, Jensen just wasn’t interested in pursuing it. 

“Why? I really don’t understand why you would need to. Is something going on?”

“Christ, Jensen?” Pritchard snapped, his frustration peaking, before he took a steadying breath, calming down. “Adam. Seriously. If...if you want me to stay, just say so.”

“It’s not that. It just seems…” Jensen said haltingly, his palms up helplessly.

“If you don’t want me to stay, then me leaving shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to stay- I mean. What if something happens...again.”

“So what, you want to be my bodyguard? Except when you’re off at work, I don’t know, punching terrorists or whatever they have you do? Why are we even arguing about this? I thought you’d want me out of your hair,” Pritchard groaned. This argument was getting downright painful. He didn’t _want_ to leave...

“I don’t know. Just...seems silly,” Jensen offered weakly. Pritchard eyed him, having a hard time reading his reactions. What even was this argument.

“Look. I don’t know what to say. It’s...It’s just hard for me to be here, okay?” Pritchard said, finally getting to his feet.

“Hard to be here? What does that mean? In this district?”

“No, with you!” Pritchard snapped out, taking a step forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Jensen. How could someone be so obtuse? Jensen took half a step back, looking vaguely hurt.

Jensen seemed to struggle for the words. “I’m sorry if I offended-”

“No. You haven’t. It’s me. But, if you want me to stay, just say so!” Pritchard said, exasperated, taking another step forward. What was happening? Why couldn’t the bastard just admit he wanted Pritchard to stay? Or at least explain his real reason why he seemed so hesitant to let Pritchard go. 

“I just don’t understand why staying would be a problem…” Jensen said weakly. He seemed...anxious. Fearful? It didn’t matter, Francis was too caught up in his own anxiety to really process anything.

“Because!” Pritchard was making no headway. He ground his teeth for a moment, shaking his head, and finally snapped. Fuck it, he would be leaving anyway. He’d just _show him._

Pritchard closed the distance between them, and grabbed Jensen’s head, pulling him in, leaning forward, crushing their lips together in a sudden and almost violent kiss. Jensen’s lips were soft and warm, and his facial hair not nearly as scratchy as Pritchard expected. Jensen didn’t pull away, but he didn’t reciprocate either. After a few long moments Pritchard softened, pulling away, their lips slowly separating. Jensen stood stock still, stunned. Pritchard leaned back, face flushing. 

What the hell was he thinking. 

“I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t hav-” Pritchard started to stammer, turning to leave. He felt Jensen’s hand clasp around his wrist, almost painfully tight as Pritchard tried to escape. He fully deserved what ever lecture, scolding, or whatever the hell Jensen had in store for him. However, to his immense shock, he found himself being pulled close again. Jensen’s hand cradled the back of his head, guiding their lips back together. 

The world seemed to fade away as their lips met again. Pritchard happily leaned into the kiss, hungry to taste Jensen’s lips, his arms winding around him. It was divine, being pushed up against him, holding him, kissing him. All the days, no, _years_ of yearning coming to one perfect conclusion in that moment. But what was almost more gratifying was feeling Jensen’s reaction. So often Pritchard had wondered what was happening in his head… And now he could feel the sheer _want_ of desire denied as it bled through in his almost desperate kiss.

Adam seemed to almost crumble into their embrace, the hand gripping Pritchard’s wrist going slack. His lips parted, welcoming, almost needy at the first teasing probes of Pritchard’s tongue. 

He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming Jensen’s perfect body. He explored Jensen’s mouth with a blind fervor. It was just so damn inviting, he savored tasting him, being inside of him even to this extent. When he felt Jensen try to push against him, gain control of the kiss, he pushed back, shuffling until Jensen’s back was against the wall, surrendering. This elicited a small, startled moan from the man that set Pritchard’s already steaming blood on fire.

Pritchard broke the kiss momentarily, kissing along his perfect jawline. 

“Tell me you want me to stay,” Pritchard whispered.

_“Stay…”_ Jensen managed breathlessly.

Pritchard smiled, pressing his lips against Jensen’s again. The man was like puddy in his hands. The embrace continued as Pritchard explored Jensen’s mouth, his hands roaming his body, one eventually finding its way under his shirt. Jensen practically purred into his lips at the touch, his own hand buried in Pritchard’s hair, the other sliding down to cup his ass. 

Pritchard’s lips again drifted from Jensen’s mouth, kissing down his jaw, nibbling at Jensen’s neck. One of his hands slid far enough up Jensen’s shirt to find a nipple, which he gave a gentle pinch for good measure, drawing a savory, strangled whimper from his throat. Though as Adam’s hands slowly, almost cautiously roamed his body he noticed something.

He pulled away ever so slightly. “You’re shaking,” Pritchard murmured with concern. Was something wrong? Were they going too fast?

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Jensen hissed, coming off the wall to press his lips back against Pritchard’s. 

The hacker smiled, eagerly diving back in. He slotted his body back up against Jensen’s, forcing him into the wall again, this time using his hips to grind against him, gratified to feel the other man’s very erect cock press up against his own. He mostly felt as opposed to heard the gasp this pulled from Adam.

He thrust his hips against Jensen’s, essentially dry humping him into the wall, running a hand through the man’s hair. He savored the small, sounds this brought out of him, as well as the friction against his own cock. The way Adam let him manhandle him, that he seemed to be going weak in the knees even, was so damn beautiful. 

Pritchard couldn't contain himself, one of his roaming hands slipping below the waistband of Jensen’s pants. He wanted to hear more of those soft moans and gasps. He wanted to watch this usually composed stone of a man come completely undone. There was something so _needy_ about the way he melted under Pritchard’s touch; he had to indulge.

It was an awkward fit, sliding his hand down, finding the head of Jensen’s cock pressed against his boxers, the fabric already lightly damp with precum. He gently ran his fingers along the fabric covered length, drawing a full throated moan from Jensen.

“ _Fuck,_ yes,” he hissed, leaning his head back into the wall. Pritchard chuckled, pressing his lips against Jensen’s neck as he brought his other hand down to undo Jensen’s pants for better access. 

He slid a hand under the elastic waistband of Jensen’s boxers, finding his deliciously hard, throbbing cock. The skin was so divinely soft, and Jensen’s sighs so perfect as Pritchard gently, almost teasingly stroked it. Part of him wanted to linger, drag it out, watch Jensen squirm under his touch. But he also wanted to see it, _taste_ it…

Pritchard dropped to his knees, snagging his fingers in the elastic waistband and pulling down, letting Jesen’s cock spring free. It was a beautiful sight to behold, Jensen leaning heavily against the wall, his beautiful, uncut cock standing, waiting for Pritchard’s touch. The hacker reached forward, stroking it a few more times, revealing the red, pulsing tip. 

Pritchard licked the underside of Jensen’s cock, drawing a whimper out of the man. He glanced up with a smile, finding Adam’s eyes squeezed shut, his head leaning against the wall, as he wound his fingers in Pritchard’s hair, urging him forward. He was happy to oblige, sliding his lips over the head of Jensen’s dick, enveloping it in the silky warmth of his mouth, drawing another low moan out of him. Pritchard swirled his tongue around the sensitive head, teasing, as his fingers curled around the shaft. The salty taste of precum and Jensen’s natural musk were intoxicating. 

Slowly he started bobbing his head, licking and sucking, sliding as much of Jensen’s cock down his throat as he could. He loved the feeling of a hard dick in his mouth, but never quite mastered the art of deep throating, even if he loved to try, his mouth aching for the intrusion. Even if he lacked that particular trick, his real talents lay elsewhere.

Jensen’s breath started growing ragged, the hands on Pritchard’s head pushing a little more insistently. The hacker smiled, pulling away, his lips leaving Jensen’s cock with an obnoxious _pop._ Jensen opened his eyes, looking dazed as Pritchard got to his feet. He buried his face in Jensen’s neck again, kissing and nibbling at the now salty skin, his fingers wandering to Jensen’s cock, trailing along its length casually, teasing.

“Do you want to take this to the bedroom?” Pritchard purred into his ear, before pulling away ever so slightly to look him over. God he looked good, flushed lips parted, panting, lust shining bright even in his artificial golden eyes.

“Y-yes...Go. Go grab your condoms. Before I change my mind.”

Pritchard paused, frowning a little, studying Jensen carefully. “I- if you’re having second thoughts…”

Jensen grabbed the back of his head again, crushing their lips together by way of an answer. He started dragging Pritchard to the hallway, not letting their lips part till they reached the bathroom door. He then pulled away with a smirk, gently pushing Pritchard in the direction of the bathroom. “Hurry,” he murmured, before walking to the bedroom.

Pritchard did not need to be told twice, darting inside and rummaging through his travel bag. 

When Pritchard arrived in the bedroom he found Jensen sitting on the bed, his shoes kicked off, pulling his shirt over his head. Pritchard tossed the condoms and lube towards the pillow, and eagerly straddled him, pushing him down onto the bed with a grin. He dragged his lips along Jensen’s collar bone, working to push the boxers all the way down this time. Jensen’s hands slid under Pritchard’s shirt, hiking it up, eventually forcing the hacker to raise his arms so it could be taken off.

“Looks like I didn’t bring any lube so I grabbed your aug lubricant,” Pritchard said hastily, taking a momentary break from licking and kissing his way across Jensen’s chest, though his hand still idly toyed with the man’s cock.

“Is that...safe?” Jensen managed, his hands working to undo Pritchard’s pants.

“Yeah, completely. Actually works extremely well, too. Only problem is it’s formulated to last, and is a bitch to wash off. You usually end up with a slippery asshole for like a few days.”

Jensen wheezed a faint laugh at that. “I think I’ll manage,” he purred, massaging Pritchard’s cock through his boxers. “Fuck…” he murmured sounding almost hoarse, his voice dripping with lust as his hands mapped out the full extent of Pritchard’s member. What could he say? He was blessed…

Pritchard crawled off Jensen’s lap, working to pull the man’s pants the rest of the way down. Jensen helped him kick the pants away, and Pritchard pulled off his own pants as Adam scooted further onto the bed, into a less awkward position. Pritchard smiled, running his fingers along Jensen’s augmented leg. He was a sight to behold, laying there, fully nude. His clothes really hid how different his body was. How the augs wound and joined with his skin, the dark contrasting with pale, perfect flesh, and of course the erect, beautiful cock standing at attention. It was striking. 

“Look at you,” Pritchard murmured. 

For his part, Jensen’s eyes roamed Pritchard’s body, but mostly came to rest on his dick, with a glimmer of amazement in his eyes. Francis smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d elicited such a reaction. He was thick and long, with a _pronounced_ mushroom head.

Pritchard ran both hands up Jensen’s thighs, crawling between them. The man’s head fell back, his eyes sliding shut with a moan, which prompted Pritchard to follow his hands up with his lips and tongue. The cool augs were different than hot flesh, but the gasps and arched back when he ran his teeth along artificial muscle were just as rewarding. He’d slept with people with augmented limbs before, but none had such...strong reactions to such attention. Pritchard found it strangely erotic. To think Jensen was so well integrated with his body. He loved the notion of pleasing him this way. 

But his flesh still held plenty of allure, and Pritchard’s own throbbing cock was growing impatient. He grabbed the bottle of lube, drizzling a good portion across his fingers. He smiled, spreading Jensen’s legs further, folding one leg up, exposing his hole. He teased with his middle finger, drawing another needy gasp from the man. 

Slowly, gently, Pritchard slid his middle finger into Adam’s tight hole. The man gasped as Pritchard’s finger breached him, then bit his lip to stifle a moan as he buried it deep inside. Pritchard smiled, kissing along Jensen’s elevated calf as he worked the finger in and out slowly, probing, finding his sweet spot. He was very tight, and _very_ inviting. He drizzled a little more lube along Jensen’s crack, gently pushing a second finger inside, earning him a full throated moan. He clutched the sheets as his hole clenched around Pritchard’s intrusive fingers. But after a few moments he relaxed, softly, almost pathetically moaning.

Suddenly, Jensen sat up, Pritchard’s fingers still buried in his ass, and grabbed the back of the hacker’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. After a few sloppy, frantic seconds he pulled away. 

“Hurry up and fuck me,” he hissed.

Pritchard couldn’t help but smile. “You sure?” he asked, giving his sizeable cock a few strokes. Jensen’s eyes trailed down to Pritchard’s member, watching him play with it, a gentle reminder of its size. It was far larger than a couple fingers.

“Y-yes.”

Pritchard smiled.

With quick hands, Pritchard tore open a condom, and rolled it over his cock. He smeared a good quantity more lubrication over its generous length, massaging it for good measure, smiling as Jensen watched him with almost fearful anticipation. 

Pritchard pushed Jensen’s back down onto the mattress, and pulled both the man’s legs up and apart, leaving him exposed, at Pritchard's mercy. He leaned in, pressing a fiery kiss against Jensen’s lips as the head of his cock pressed gently against Jensen’s hole. He could feel Jensen tense in anticipation, something which certainly wouldn’t do him any favors taking Pritchard’s substantial dick. He reached a hand down, lazily stroking Jensen’s beautiful member as he continued the kiss, waiting for the man to relax. 

As soon as he felt the tension fade, Pritchard gently started to press in, the head of his cock slowly spreading Jensen’s tight hole. Adam gasped, his mouth falling open, his head rolling to the side. Pritchard paused, continuing to gently stroke Jensen’s cock. His head hadn’t even fully breached him yet, but he still gently backed away the tiniest bit, before pushing ever so slightly deeper. 

Pritchard continued like this for a good while, pausing every time he felt Jensen tense underneath him, slowly, gently, easing his way inside. They moaned in tandem as the head of Pritchard’s cock finally made its way fully inside. Jensen outright jumped and arched his back as his greedy hole swallowed Pritchard in, tearing a strangled sound from his throat, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. 

They paused again, panting. Pritchard leaned down, devouring Jensen’s lips, Adam burying both hands in Pritchard’s hair, holding him close. Pritchard smiled against his lips, as he slowly, steadily started pushing in further, deeper. Jensen gasped again, grasping at the sheets as Pritchard buried his cock further and further, until he bottomed out, leaving Jensen a panting mess underneath him.

“H-holy... shit…” Adam gasped.

“Ever taken a cock this big before?” Pritchard purred into Jensen’s ear. 

“N-No!” Jensen choked out, sounding so frantic and frazzled Pritchard couldn’t question the authenticity. He suspected a “not even close” was somewhere strangled off in the depths of his gasping throat. Still, Pritchard was impressed, he was taking his cock like a champ.

After waiting a moment for Jensen to gain the tiniest bit of composure, Pritchard started slowly pulling out, drawing a whole new delightful series of reactions from Adam. He felt Jensen’s artificial legs wrap around him, as if to keep him from pulling _all_ the way out, as he clung almost desperately. 

Once the head of his cock edged against his rim, slowly, gently, Pritchard pushed back in, pulling another low moan from Jensen’s throat. He kept a slow, steady pace for a good while, his hand occasionally roaming from Jensen’s cock to his chest, pinching and tweaking his nipples, making the man bite his lip, his eyes squeezing shut in extacy. 

Jensen wasn’t the only one enjoying himself. Despite the agonizingly slow pace, Pritchard was in heaven. He was so tight, and watching Adam come undone on his cock was...It was indescribable. Never before had he wanted to work so hard to please a partner. Of course he loved watching men writhe and moan under him, but not like this. Seeing Adam like this was so hot he almost feared he’d cum too soon and ruin it for the both of them despite the languid pace. 

Eventually Pritchard started canting his hips, shifting his position ever so slightly as he thrust, until he ripped a particularly throaty moan from Adam’s lips. _That_ was the spot...He held the angle, pushing again and again into Jensen’s prostate, making the man gasp, particularly as he slowly built up speed. 

When Pritchard wrapped fingers wrapped around Adam’s cock again, he found it drooling pre cum onto his stomach. He slid the slick mess over the head, and began stroking. He still moved his cock inside the other man at a gentle pace, but with more urgency than before, taking care to keep at just the right angle. He wanted to see Adam overwhelmed, wanted to see him cum all over himself and lose control. He wanted to see his face at the peak of ecstasy, impaled on Pritchard’s hard dick. 

At the same time he was cautious. He wanted to take care of Adam. Sending partners to the border between pleasure and pain was intoxicating, and a place they very much enjoyed, but not today. He wanted Adam to feel taken care of, wanted him to feel _loved._

As Pritchard continued his gentle but determined assault on Jensen’s prostate, his hand firmly stroking the man’s cock, Adam’s mouth fell open, panting.

“Francis...I-” he managed to gasp, but before he could continue the words strangled off in his throat as tension built in his body. Pritchard increased the urgency of his thrusts, continuing to stroke his cock, until a strangled cry tore its way from Adam’s throat as he came, shooting hot ropes of cum over Pritchard’s hand and all over himself.

Francis grunted and moaned, Adam’s hole squeezing and bearing down on his cock with such ferocity, it pushed Pritchard straight over the edge. He groaned as he came, thrusting a few last shaky times into Jensen’s clenching hole, and nearly collapsed on top of him. 

Once they were both thoroughly and completely spent, Pritchard finally eased his way out, Jensen’s body jerking as Pritchard’s cock finally popped free of his ass. Pritchard pulled off the condom and sat up to admire his handiwork. Jensen’s heaving chest glinted with sweat, accentuated with ropes of cum smeared across his belly, a few reaching all the way up to his chest. He lay breathing with an arm slung over his eyes, looking completely fucked out. 

Pritchard smiled wickedly, leaning down, and licking the salty cum from his body. Jensen lifted his arm, emitting a faint rumble as he watched Pritchard lick him clean. 

“Jesus Christ...Francis…” he managed to wheeze. Pritchard just smiled, licking his lips, and finally flopping down on the bed next to him.

He lay there for a while, trailing his fingers up the unique curves of Adam’s arm, while Jensen lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling. He had a look in his eyes Pritchard couldn’t quite identify. Were they misting? The artificial eyes were so different, it was difficult to say.

“Are you alright?” Pritchard murmured after a time. Jensen blinked, looking over to him with a faint, tired smile.

“Yeah. I just. I think I needed that,” he said, rolling onto his side. He cupped Pritchard’s face between his hands and leaned into for a kiss. It was lingering, gentle, and sweet. Pritchard wound his fingers in Jensen’s hair as the man sighed against his lips. Slowly, lazily, their lips finally parted. Adam buried his face in Francis’ neck, the hacker casually stroking his fingers through Jensen’s hair. 

Jensen wrapped his arms around Pritchard, pulling him close, almost clinging, something of a desperation to his grip.

_“I needed that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Me, reading the comments on the previous chapter like "oh man folks are so amazed at the flirting next chapter's gonna hit like a fucking train. Maybe I should revise and stretch it out a bit more...*checks the word count*. . . ALL ABOARD THE BONETRAIN"  
> -The bonetrain will be taking this fic straight to bonetown for a bit. I apologize/you're welcome depending on your stance. BUT hey it's been rated E from day one you were warned.  
> -Also can i get a fucking FINALLY?


	14. Chapter 14

Jensen felt...overwhelmed.

He’d fought his seemingly inexplicable attraction until all at once the fight just wasn’t worth it, and it felt so perfect. When Francis kissed him, he felt the last shred of his resolve crumble away, replaced with an almost overwhelming desire. He’d never had an experience quite like that before. Not just the shocking size of Pritchard’s...equipment, but in general. 

A fear that he might be broken had lingered in his mind for a long time, well before stumbling through the Red Light District. But now here he lay nude, limbs entwined with another person. There was no urge to retreat, no fear that his body was somehow an affront to him. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory of Francis’ teeth on his thigh. _That_ was a sensation he never thought he’d feel. It was different from his skin, hard and scraping instead of giving, but it was new, and wonderful.

It wasn’t just the sex. He felt so connected. Being so close, touching him, curling up with him in bed, it filled a void that had been silently clawing at him for who knows how long. He felt so alone, so separated from the world. But with Francis in his arms, holding him, kissing him, _inside_ of him...He never thought he’d experience that kind of intimacy again. He didn’t even realize quite how desperately he missed it.

While his augs were a large part of his lingering sense of isolation, of being broken, he realized it had actually started before then. His relationship with Megan had grown increasingly one sided as time went on. It finally came to an end as Adam realized he felt alone even when he was with her. Though in retrospect it was easy to understand why she pulled away. But the fact remained, augs or not, he’d been alone a long time.

Though the sex _was_ incredible. Getting that massive cock in was a bit of a process, but god was it worth it. He probably would have been just as satisfied with a more reasonably sized dick, but he definitely wasn’t upset about it. With junk that big it was almost impossible for Francis to _miss_ his prostate. But goddamn if he didn’t use it just right.

If someone told him two years ago that not only would he have sex with Frank goddamn Pritchard, but that it would probably be the best sex of his life, he would have called them delusional. 

They dozed off together for a bit when they were through, even though it was too early for bed, and Francis still slept nestled with him. Adam remembered, somewhat bemusedly, that there were still groceries sitting on the counter. He vaguely hoped nothing important got left out, but honestly didn’t care. This was far more important. 

He trailed his fingers along Pritchard’s side, cool black aug running across warm skin. Francis stirred ever so slightly at his touch, his eyes slowly sliding open. 

“Hey there,” Jensen purred as Francis looked to him, a tired, fond smile on his lips.

“Hi,” he murmured back, before stifling a yawn. 

Adam leaned forward, placing a lazy kiss on Pritchard’s lips. Though what was supposed to only be a quick brush soon deepened, as Francis ran his fingers through Adam’s hair. 

Jensen sighed at the playful tug of teeth on his lower lip, returning the gesture in kind when he got the chance. He loved how fucking assertive Pritchard was. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The man was bossy and full of himself in day to day life, of course he would be in the bedroom as well. It was, however, perhaps just a bit surprising that he had the skills to back it up. If he was forced to guess which of his friends and acquaintances were skilled in the bedroom, Pritchard would not have come in the top twenty.

It seemed all he’d been doing these past few weeks was reevaluating his preconceptions about Francis. And he liked pretty much everything he’d learned. More than liked, even.

This feeling inside of him was so much more than simple attraction or even lust. So much more than just his desire to be touched by another person. It frightened him even more than the initial realization of his attraction. But there was a certain thrill as well. No matter what, he was enjoying himself, enjoying having whatever this was.

Their lips parted after a time, Pritchard stifling another yawn as Jensen’s fingers went back to roaming his body.

“How are you feeling?” Pritchard murmured, eyeing him as he traced Adam’s jaw. Jensen smiled.

“Wonderful. You?”

“Perfect. Maybe a little sticky.”

Jensen huffed a small laugh, stretching. “Yeah. You weren’t kidding about the lube too…” he said. He definitely still felt like he had a ‘slippery asshole’ that was for sure. He was remarkably not sore, though he definitely felt...almost stretched. It felt dirty, it made his cock start to twitch even thinking about it.

Pritchard chuckled at that, as Jensen let out a sigh, his hand returning to Francis’ body. He trailed his fingers along Pritchard’s arm, across his tattoo. His finger traced along the lines of binary, curious. On closer inspection, the ink was a little faded, like it was either poorly done or getting old.

“What does this mean?” Jensen asked, Francis groaned, shaking his head.

“Don’t ask. I got it when I was young, angry, and dumb…”

“Come on...tell me.”

Pritchard groaned louder in response.

“You know I’ll just figure it out eventually,” Jensen pointed out with a crooked smile. The hacker sighed.

“It says ‘fuck the police,’” he admitted, rolling his eyes. 

Jensen hummed, giving his best pensive expression, waiting a good long moment before he responded. “Seems like you took that pretty literally…” 

Pritchard narrowed his eyes at him, pursing his lips, and in lieu of a response took his pillow, and pressed it down on Jensen’s face, in a playful attempt at smothering him. Jensen laughed, wrestling the pillow away. He snagged Pritchard’s face instead, pressing their lips together. 

“It works for me,” Jensen murmured against Pritchard’s mouth.

“What can I say, I have a problem with authority,” Francis purred.

“You seemed pretty eager to take charge...”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Frances said, his lips curling into a smile against Adam’s.

“Oh, I wasn’t… I guess I just didn’t expect it. Who would expect a skinny nerd to be such a stud in bed,” Jensen teased, giving Pritchard’s thigh a squeeze.

“Mmm, I know. And who would expect a tough badass to be such a pillow princess.”

Jensen wheezed, pulling away from their half kiss. “ _Pillow princess?_ ”

“I mean-” Francis started, but now it was Adam’s turn to try and smother him with a pillow. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he laughed, flailing, pushing the pillow away. 

“I’ll show you a pillow princess,” Jensen said with a smirk, rolling on top of the other man.

“Oh, please do…” Pritchard said with a mischievous smile as Adam slid the hand on his thigh up towards his groin, then paused, a faint bolt of fear holding him in place. The sensation of his hard augs against Pritchard’s delicate skin reminding him how easy it would be to accidentally hurt him. The fact that he’d accidentally ripped out Pritchard’s hair the night he was high still upset him. 

“What’s wrong?” Francis asked, seeing his hesitancy. “I-if you don’t want to it’s totally fine. I was just teasing, you don’t need to prove-”

“No it’s...I...I don’t want to hurt you,” Jensen confessed, his voice somber. “These hands…”

“Are fine,” Pritchard filled in for him, leaning up to kiss him. 

Jensen hummed, giving in to the kiss for a moment, giving him time to think. His mouth was, of course, safe, but he wasn’t very good at giving head totally hands free. Or arguably in general. Though was it possible to be truly bad at it? 

He could always lube up his hand but...he’d exploded a container of the aug lubricant on his hand once before, while he was still getting used to his new strength. It was a disaster; he couldn’t wash it off. He almost couldn’t grip the doorknob well enough to escape his apartment and go to the LIMB clinic and get some solvent for it. It wasn’t one of his proudest days.

Then a brilliant thought occurred to him. He sat up, grasping Pritchard’s wrists to pull him along. The man was already semi hard, that monster of a cock laying heavy against his pale thigh. Jensen licked his lips. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he explained as Francis stared at him. The hacker smiled, and allowed himself to be led to the bathroom. 

Jensen was grateful his shower was relatively roomy. 

Their lips met the second they stepped inside, the warm water pouring down their bodies, rinsing away the sweat, cum, and everything else. It didn’t take long for their hard cocks to start rubbing together as they kissed. 

Adam had never been insecure about his own size. But he was a little shocked to find that seeing it so small by comparison to Pritchard’s was actually a _turn on._ He guessed he knew he was a bit of a closet size king, but with most of his relationships having been with women, it didn’t come up much. He’d never had the nerve to suggest buying a bigger toy when it came to pegging. His few boyfriends had all been average, and the sex had generally been pretty vanilla while they lasted. So the topic just didn’t come up.

He grabbed his soap, pouring a generous portion into his hands, before he started rubbing down Pritchard’s body, carefully, teasingly ignoring his deliciously inviting cock. For now. 

Pritchard followed suit, his soapy hands roamed Adam’s body, in a facsimile of helping him wash up, though he wasn’t shy about his groping. His fingers rubbing circles around his nipples, even pinching a few times--something absolutely necessary for cleanliness, of course. 

That was another thing Adam was surprised by how good it felt. At least casual nipple play came up before, but he’d never particularly cared for it one way or another. But now? He almost wondered if all his augs had something to do with the change. He couldn’t solely blame Pritchard for that experience, unless he had some unknowable nipple mastery… Maybe what little flesh he had remaining had grown more sensitive to compensate for everything else. Either way, he loved the bolts of pleasure it sent through him, and how it made his cock throb.

He’d been so secure in himself, what he liked physically before he was changed. But even after such a long recovery process, and so much time spent refamiliarizing himself with his body, he supposed he never truly addressed it. His body was so different, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that what he enjoyed in bed had also shifted.

Francis’ hands slid down, stroking Jensen’s cock and washing his balls casually, before sliding around back, paying particularly close attention to his rear. He slid soapy fingers into his crack, teasing and thoroughly washing his hole. 

Jensen moaned, leaning against him, pressing their lips back together, his soapy hands finally finding their way to Francis’ cock as the man toyed with his entrance. Pritchard practically keening against his lips as his hands worked their way up and down his length.

Once they were thoroughly “cleaned” Jensen stepped back, letting the water rinse the soap away. He smiled at Pritchard’s half lidded look of lust before he dropped to his knees with a faint _clink_ against the hard tiles. He ran his tongue along Francis’s length lazily a few times. 

It felt like he was going to have to unhinge his goddamn jaw getting that mushroom head into his mouth. He licked his lips before placing them on the head of Pritchard’s cock, kissing and sucking lightly. When he finally slid it into his mouth, it turned out it fit just fine. He hungrily swallowed it in, running his tongue greedily along the underside. His mouth felt so full, it was strangely intoxicating.

Francis moaned as he bobbed his head on his cock, not even managing to get half his length down his throat, an augmented hand wrapped around the rest, stroking in rhythm with his mouth. He savored the salty taste of precum oozing onto his tongue as he sucked. Pritchard’s hands wound in his wet hair, urging him on, but there was no getting any further.

After a time his jaw started to ache, and Adam pulled away, running his tongue along that gorgeous length one more time before he stood. But he wasn’t done with Francis yet. As much fun as sucking him was, he loved the way Pritchard responded to his hands. Francis started to come forward, take control again, but Adam buried a fiery kiss on his lips, pushing him against the tiles as an augmented hand wrapped around the base of his cock, holding firmly, while his other hand came down to stroke him determinedly. 

“Oh fuck-” Francis gasped, holding onto Jensen’s shoulders, as the stroking continued. Adam smiled, picking up speed, causing Francis to throw his head back, knocking gently against the tiles. “Wait, wait- If you’re not careful I’m gonna- ahh-”

Adam was _not_ careful, redoubling his efforts, silencing Francis with another kiss, his wrist expertly twisting around his tip as he jerked him off. Pritchard groaned into his mouth as he tumbled over the edge, his cock throbbing in Jensen’s grip as he came, shooting cum all over Jensen’s hand and hip. 

Jensen bit his lip, his own cock twitching. It was so damn satisfying, getting Francis off with his _hands._ Hands that some days felt like they were designed for no purpose but to hurt people. Who knew giving someone a hand job could be so fulfilling...

After a few seconds regaining his breath, Pritchard laughed, a wicked grin on his lips. “I wasn’t ready- Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” he said, sounding anything but angry, his hand wrapping around Adam’s dick, squeezing firmly. 

The way Pritchard licked his lips, and that hungry look in his eye, Adam fully expected the man to drop to his knees and take Jensen’s cock in his mouth. It felt so damn good the first time he did, Adam’s cock throbbed with anticipation. Instead, he found himself being spun around, Francis’ hand on his back pushing him forward. Though with his slowly flagging erection, Jensen had to wonder what exactly he had in mind. 

His face flushed bright as Pritchard used both hands to spread his ass cheeks, leaving him exposed. Then he gasped as all at once Pritchard dropped to his knees, burying his face between them, what could only have been his tongue driving at his hole. Adam leaned his forehead against the cold tiles as Pritchard’s tongue licked and teased him. He’d never been rimmed before, never even particularly wanted it, but _god_ it felt good and _dirty._

He almost laughed. So that’s why Francis spent so much time so thoroughly cleaning his ass…This was premeditated.

His cock twitched as he felt that tongue worming against him, probing, almost managing to breach him, lapping hungrily. He bit his lip, his face burning. It was so wrong, but so good, having a soft tongue teasing his sensitive flesh. He couldn’t help canting his hips back for better access, craving more of that wet, warm tongue against him. One thing was for sure, the light teasing made him want _more._

One of Pritchard’s hands finally roamed from his cheek between his legs, idly fondling his balls before reaching his shaft, beginning to stroke, drawing a faint moan from somewhere deep Adam’s chest. 

Finally the licking relented, only for him to feel Francis run his fingers along his hole instead.

“I wonder if you’re still lubed up in there,” he murmured, a teasing digit gently pushing into his hole. They both got their answer as it slid easily inside. “God I love that stuff…” Pritchard chuckled.

Jensen’s eyes practically rolled back as the man started an almost brutal assault on his prostate with the finger. He knew he was attracted to those long fingers for a reason. 

He pushed in a second digit, while not nearly as full or long as his cock, the precision aim of his fingers brought their own delight. After being so worked up from getting Francis off and the rimming, now with the quick hand jerking him, and the merciless assault by his fingers, it took little time for Jensen to reach his peak. His cock jerked and throbbed as his cum splattered against the shower wall. Not nearly as much this time, but it had been, what, an hour since their last round? He leaned against his arm, panting, absolutely spent. 

Pritchard slid his fingers out of Jensen’s ass, then gave his butt a wet _slap_ for good measure.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” he asked, pausing to wash his fingers, before turning off the shower. 

Jensen wheezed. “What? Fuck...give me a second…” Was he hungry? He couldn’t even think straight right now. He laughed a moment later, finally pushing himself off the wall, he slid a wet hand around Pritchard’s waist before he could leave the shower, pulling him close, nuzzling into his neck. “How can you be hungry after eating so much ass…?”

Pritchard barked a laugh. “It was just an appetizer.” 

Adam snickered, placing a kiss on the back of his neck before letting him go. They managed to keep their hands off one another long enough to dry off and get dressed. Or at least partly dressed. Adam mostly just pulled on a fresh pair of sweats, Francis following suit.

Jensen felt refreshed. Light. He still had problems to contend with. His Infolink was still bugged. Whoever bugged it _probably_ tried to have Pritchard killed. Not to mention the state of the world, state of everything. But for just a moment it all felt a little less heavy. 

Pritchard picked through the forgotten groceries on the counter as Jensen came up behind him, sliding a hand around his waist. Francis leaned back into him, his fingers trailing along his aug. The feel of his bare back against Adam’s naked chest so uniquely satisfying. 

“Were you hungry?” Francis asked.

“Yeah. When’d it get so late?” Adam asked. Now that he’d had a moment to settle he was in fact starving. 

“When we decided to fuck and take a pre dinner nap instead of eating,” Pritchard said with a smirk, turning in Jensen’s arms to face him.

“True…” 

Pritchard smiled at him, starting to stroke his cheek, when suddenly his eyes went wide with alarm. “Oh, shit, I should tell that landlord I’m not going to be staying- I mean...You. You do want me to stay, right? You weren’t just...”

Jensen nodded with a faint smile of his own. “Yeah. I do want you to stay,” he said. He didn’t know why it was so hard to admit before. Hard to admit to _himself_ before. “You’re welcome to sleep in bed even,” he added with a smirk.

“Do you want to talk about...what…” Pritchard trailed off, sounding hesitant himself.

He didn’t need to finish the question for Adam to understand. A lot had just happened very quickly. He didn’t know what to call what they had. What they’d obtained. He was a little scared to even contemplate it. So for now he was content just...going with it. That damn nerd was weirdly sexy and great in bed and trustworthy and _god_ did it feel good to be touched again. To be intimate. To feel someone, to be felt by someone and not be immediately repulsed and want to retreat. 

He needed this so badly, it was terrifying. Were they a couple now? Would they just fuck a few more times and call it good? He hoped not. But could he be in a relationship right now? The answer to that felt like a firm no, but he couldn’t just toss this aside either.

For now he wanted to just. Be.

Jensen shook his head. “No. I. Not yet.”

Pritchard nodded. “I understand. But I need to email that guy,” he said, slipping out of Jensen’s grip. “There’s no way I’m getting that deposit back.”

Jensen sighed. “I wish you’d said something sooner.”

“I know I Just. I didn’t. I didn’t think you were interested,” Pritchard said a little hesitantly as he opened his laptop.

Jensen winced. “That’s...fair.”

“I didn’t know what you wanted. From me. Or...from anything. I don’t know.”

“Honestly? I didn’t know either,” Jensen admitted.

“Do you at least know what you want for dinner?” Francis asked, his tone lightening.

“I bought stuff for sandwiches, I guess…”

“You’re such a bachelor,” Pritchard said with a laugh.

Jensen scoffed. If anything was a tip off to _that_ it should have been the dozens of empty boxes of cereal. 

The made their sandwiches in mostly quiet. Occasionally bumping up against one another casually, flirtatiously, making Jensen smile. They sat down to eat, then ultimately wound up on the couch nestled together. Adam’s arm slung around Pritchard’s shoulders, holding him close. The casual intimacy was such a change from his usual routine, in some respects it was almost nicer than the sex. Not entirely, though, as the sex was amazing, but it was precious in its own way. 

Pritchard ran his fingers along Jensen’s arm, down to his hand, before taking it in both of his own, fiddling with it, toying with the myriad of joints, bending his fingers, flipping his hand over, examining all the connectors. Jensen chuckled.

“Having fun?” Adam asked.

“Mm. I just never really...spent much time looking at your hands before. They’re nice…”

“Yeah, the Sarif engineers did a good job.”

Pritchard frowned. “I suppose. But. Would it be weird to say I feel like they suit you? It’s strange. I’ve met many people where their augs were just some advanced bits of tech bolted on their body. Yours feel like you, you know? Sorry, that’s probably a weird thing to say.”

Jensen smiled a little at that, entwining his fingers in Pritchard’s. “I think I get your meaning.”

“At the risk of sounding like I have an aug fetish- I don’t really. They’re fine just- I didn’t find you nearly as attractive before. I don’t know. You’re different now...But in a good way,” Francis managed to ramble. Adam detected the man was falling into another one of his talking death spirals. He gave him a squeeze, planting a kiss on his hair. 

“I’d say you’ve changed too. You were such a little dick before, I could never imagine you going so far to help anyone, let alone me.”

Pritchard scoffed. “You’re probably right, I wouldn’t have.”

“I like this Francis better…” Even as he spoke, a faint glimmer of paranoia worked its way into Adam’s mind. “I don’t suppose you expected this to happen...When you came.”

“Oh, _god_ no…” Francis said immediately, and with such startled finality Jensen couldn't help but believe him. “Sure, I thought I was helping a friend, but I didn’t even realize I was attracted to you until…” he trailed off.

“Until?” Jensen asked, eyebrows raising.

“Um. So. You know how I said you didn’t do anything weird when you were high?” Pritchard said a little hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“That was kind of a lie?” Francis said, his voice tight.

“I suspected as much.”

“I-I mean, nothing _really_ weird happened. Just. You wouldn’t keep your hands off of me. And my hair. And it was a lot to deal with? And you got all _suggestive_ when I dumped you on the bed. I’ve dealt with plenty of high people I’m not attracted to and it was...different? I don’t know. It was a lot. Sorry I didn’t really tell you before. I didn’t want to say anything that would embarrass you. It wasn’t really that big a deal…” Pritchard finally confessed. Adam nodded, that aligned with what little he could remember.

“I thought I might’ve come onto you.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Pritchard muttered.

“Sorry, I was… _really_ out of it.”

“Trust me. I know. I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell you’d _actually_ be interested in someone like _me_ if you were sober..”

“Well, I guess you were wrong about that point,” Adam said, into Pritchard’s hair, planting a kiss on his head for good measure. 

“I still don’t know how…” Pritchard murmured.

“I guess I just like nerds.”

Pritchard snorted. “You know what’s really dumb about all this?”

“Dumb?”

Francis grunted in acknowledgment. “Yeah. Dumb. Your damn neighbor was right all along.”

Adam wheezed a laugh. “Shit, you’re right…” 

Though, was she right? She called Francis his boyfriend. Were they a couple? The carefully avoided conversation came worming its way back into Jensen’s mind, but he stubbornly batted it away. He just wanted time enjoying himself with another person. Was that too much to ask? He’d figure out the details later. 

They slid back into silence, Jensen casually petting Pritchard’s hair as he leaned into him with a satisfied sigh. He loved the way they fit together. Hell, he loved the way Pritchard fit inside of him. He tended to lean towards being on the bottom with men. But He’d never so desperately wanted, _needed_ a cock like that. 

It was also deeply annoying to admit that MacReady was right on his need to “get laid” assessment. Granted, obviously, he couldn’t just go out and fuck anyone, as his Red Light District misadventures so clearly illustrated. He was immensely grateful for this. Whatever this was. 

When Pritchard said he was going to leave he felt so...conflicted. He’d just taken it for granted that the man would be around longer. At least until the repair. He didn’t even know why he wanted him around. In a few short weeks he’d grown so accustomed to having company. Having Pritchard’s company. He could laugh at himself, even a year ago the notion of _wanting_ Pritchard around in his apartment full time would have been absurd. 

He’d taken his presence, and remaining presence for granted, and refused to think ahead to the fact that ultimately he would be leaving, going home. Then his apartment would again be empty. And he’d be alone again.

That reality still remained. Eventually, presumably, Pritchard would want to go home. But again Jensen put it out of his head. It was something to worry about later. 

Suddenly he remembered Alex talking to him. Telling him he’d have an easier time convincing Pritchard to join the Collective. He should try...it was true. They could always use more good hackers. _And it would be an excuse for him to stay…_ And wait. Did she realize how Pritchard felt…? Adam supposed he knew too, Francis _had_ made a few passes at him after all. But it didn’t feel serious. He made a pass at Chang for fucks sake.

He thought back over the days that led them to this point. To Aria’s poker night, when Adam finally pulled his head out of his ass about his feelings. Putting off thinking about his feelings seemed to be his hobby lately. But that was when he remembered something _else_ about the party. Something he’d meant to ask about, before Pritchard short circuited his brain with a cigarette…

“So, at Aria’s poker game-”

“Sorry I was flirting with Peter, I didn’t think you-” Francis blurted defensively.

“No, that’s fine,” Adam chuckled, Pritchard almost sounded panicked. There’s no question he’d caught Jensen’s jealous, or perhaps envious glare. He wasn’t usually the jealous type, though he certainly felt something. But Adam couldn’t blame him either way. If he didn’t think Adam was interested, why _not_ make a pass at Peter? “When Aria said no cheating with augs, you looked like you turned something off. What the hell hacking aug lets you cheat at poker?” Jensen asked with a smirk.

He was surprised when Francis sat up a little uneasily. “I uh. Probably should have mentioned it sooner? I have a CASIE.”

Jensen blinked at him, holding him at arm's length, staring. “What? Seriously? Why-how?”

“It’s useful in my line of work sometimes,” Pritchard explained defensively. “There’s more ways to access a building than through the air ducts, you know. Don’t really use it for much else, if you’re wondering how I’m still so _charming._ ”

“But it was on…”

“Yeah...so? I have it on most of the time. It’s useful. Doesn’t mean I’m trying to use it on people all the time. You have one, you should know how it is.”

Jensen hesitated, eyeing him, going steadily from bemused to alarmed. He suddenly remembered how oddly the conversation outside the liquor store went. How he’d been so knocked off guard, and strangely calmed…He opened his mouth a few times. Trying to work through his thoughts.

“You used it on me that night by the liquor store,” he finally blurted.

“I-I yes. I am _so sorry_ ,” Pritchard said hurriedly, leaning away, as if he was trying to escape the conversation. “I didn’t know what else to do…I swear I won’t do it again.”

Jensen shook his head, smiling despite himself. “I just can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it.” He really _was_ out of sorts that day.

“Still...I shouldn’t have. It’s wrong doing that to a friend-” Pritchard said, starting to stand. Jensen caught his arm, pulling him back onto the couch, and half into his lap. He looped his arms around Pritchard’s waist, keeping him from escaping, and buried his face against the back of his neck, planting a few stray kisses.

“It’s fine. You did what you had to. I probably would have done the same in your shoes...and it’s interesting to know what getting social auged feels like,” he said with a smirk against Pritchard’s neck.

“It just feels so wrong-”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. I was being a piece of shit.”

“No, you weren’t, you were just-”

Jensen silenced him, by grasping his chin, turning his head, and planting a kiss on his lips. Francis sighed through his nose, tension flowing out of him.

“You’re fine,” Jensen murmured against Pritchard’s lips. “It’s late though, we should get some sleep.”

Francis grunted in agreement, but planted another kiss on Adam’s lips before getting up. After all was said and done, between their pre-dinner nap, the shower -- and accompanying activities -- and finally eating, it had gotten quite late. He’d been alert after dozing off like that, but between even more sex and food...he was definitely ready for bed. 

A slight pang of regret hit him as Francis led them to the bedroom. Tomorrow was his last day of leave before he was back to work. The very thing he’d been impatiently waiting for weeks to do. And now he wanted more time. Wanted more days spent tangled in Pritchard’s arms, listlessly stroking his hair, pressing his lips to his skin, hair, mouth...definitely that cock again, though maybe not at the moment. He was feeling pretty well spent. Too bad MacReady would probably damn near kill him if he asked for more time.

But there would be more time in the future.

Their lips met, casually, softly as they undressed for bed, Pritchard’s hands sliding along his body. He sighed as Francis’ lips found his neck, sucking and nibbling, teasing his flesh until it was sensitive and throbbing under his mouth. Faintly he realized it was probably going to leave a mark...He gently grabbed Francis’s hair, pulling his face away with a smirk. The man had a wicked grin on his lips, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Marking your territory, Francis?”

“Mm, you know you liked it,” Pritchard purred, leaning in again, running his tongue over the sensitive spot. The shiver that ran down Jensen’s spine gave away the truth. 

Jensen smirked, giving Francis a playful shove onto the bed. The two climbed under the covers, and almost immediately their lips met again. Though before things could escalate for a third time that evening, they settled in, holding each other close. Pritchard lay on his back, arm looped around Adam, as Adam nestled in his shoulder. He smirked a little internally. Pritchard was too damn bony for this, and his own hard augments probably weren’t any better. But they still managed

And it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Welcome to Bone town. Population, these two fuckin' nerds  
> -They call him Adam "Lube Hands" Jensen  
> -Seriously the image in my own head of Jensen trying to turn doorknobs with Lube Hands and failing and like it's so strong and 'm so amused by it i obviously need to write the one shot or something idk i'm sure i wont but hey


	15. Chapter 15

It was nice sleeping beside someone again, even if Pritchard did move around. A lot. At some point during the night Adam ended up pretty much forcibly spooning the man to keep him from continuing to roll and steal all the covers. He settled a little with the firm embrace, and Adam enjoyed nuzzling into his hair, his groin pressed up against his ass, his chest to his back.

Trying to cuddle was still marginally ridiculous. It felt like the two of them combined were all metal and bone. But they managed. He missed this kind of intimacy so badly, it wouldn’t have mattered if Francis was made out of rocks, he would have made the effort. 

Finally Francis stirred and stretched, actually waking up instead of needlessly flailing for once. He rotated in Jensen’s arms, coming to face him. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, sounding groggy; a sleepy, contented smile on his lips.

Adam reached up, gently brushing the hair out of his face. How many times had he wanted to do that? Or at least find an excuse to run his fingers through his hair. 

“Good morning,” Adam purred.

Their lips lazily brushed together, with no regard for morning breath. They lay in bed, contented, their hands lazily exploring each other’s naked bodies. Neither was in any rush to get up, but eventually the call of nature, and the call of breakfast pulled them apart.

Once again Pritchard cooked breakfast, as was pretty much their routine now, making nice, fluffy pancakes that put Adam’s to shame. He enjoyed watching Francis cook, shirtless this time, wearing nothing but a borrowed pair of sweatpants. Adam really would have preferred he roamed around nude, but alas, Francis seemed to object to the notion of wandering around completely in the buff. Which was strange coming from the guy who admitted to not wearing pants while working. 

“You know what we’re going to do after breakfast?” Pritchard said with a sly grin as they sat at the counter, enjoying their food.

“Spend the rest of my last day on vacation naked in bed?” Adam offered, with a perhaps more suggestive grin.

“No,” Francis said firmly, making Adam sag a little. The hacker leaned forward as he skewered a piece of pancake with his fork, bringing it to Adam’s lips, Adam took the bite, amused. “We’re going shopping. Because I only packed three shirts, three pairs of boxers, three pairs of socks, and two pairs of pants for this trip. And I’ve washed them all 400 times already, and one of my shirts and pairs of pants are now ruined. I’m not dealing with that for another month. And I have no idea where to buy clothes in this godforsaken city.”

Adam snorted. The clothes he’d been kidnapped in were ultimately pretty unsalvageable. “Okay, fair.”

“Besides it sounds like all of my clothes back in Detroit probably got destroyed anyway,” Francis sighed. “But then after...maybe we can do your suggestion,” he added with a smirk. 

They took their time finishing breakfast, washing up and getting dressed. Francis gently rebuffed Adam’s attempts to initiate anything more than light petting, insisting it wait until after their shopping trip. 

The city felt less...oppressive, as they walked. The sky was a steely gray, and a steady drizzle rained down on them, but the rain was strangely refreshing. The air was cold, but all that did was highlight the warmth of the man beside him, who he occasionally brushed shoulders with as they walked. Even when a short tempered cop stopped them he couldn’t be too bothered. He was in too good of a mood.

Shopping was uneventful; Frank was shockingly picky for a nerd who Adam assumed didn’t give two shits about fashion. It turns out he rarely saw him in anything other than a turtleneck and motorcycle jacket not because Francis didn’t care, but because he was too damn selective.

When he was picking up underwear Adam strayed across the isle to the women’s section where there were assorted bits of lingerie and sleepwear. He spotted a rack of soft black booty shorts with “bitch” written across the butt in elaborate metallic font. He eyed Francis’ firm rear, wondering what size he would be in women’s shorts…

The hacker caught his wandering gaze, and spotted the shorts. “Don’t. You. Dare,” Francis huffed, stomping off to go grab socks. A sales associate slid up behind Adam with a smirk.

“He looks like a medium to me,” she murmured. 

Jensen nodded, checking the price. They were cheap. He fished the credits out of his pocket and handed them and the shorts to the woman. “Can you slip these in his bag?”

She grinned. “Sure thing.”

He smiled. Francis was going to kill him later.

Finding everything Pritchard needed, or wanted, took long enough they decided to get lunch out on the town again. They walked up to a cafe, and the hostess gave Jensen a sneering once over as she straightened a stack of menus.

“We’re full up. Terrible wait,” she said flatly, despite the healthy number of empty tables behind her. 

“Is that so…” Pritchard muttered.

“Yes. Going to be an hour or more.”

Francis opened his mouth to spit something back at her, but Adam caught his arm, gently pulling him away. “Come on, we’ll just go somewhere else.”

Francis muttered a still perfectly audible, “bitch,” under his breath as they walked across the street to a different restaurant. Their new waiter was perfectly cordial, cordial enough Adam vaguely wondered if he’d caught them getting rejected by their neighbors. Not _everyone_ in the city was heartless.

Francis huffed with annoyance, whipping out his phone the second they were seated. “Honestly, the assholes in this town.”

Adam grunted. “Usually if they have a no aug policy they post it somewhere…”

“None of these shitheads should have anti-aug policies at all. Our money is just as good as anyone else’s- ohh, I can get into their sound system. Hm. Damn, the speakers are off.”

Adam leaned back in his seat, eyeing Francis, raising a brow. “What?”

“Oh, I’m hacking them,” he said casually. “Can’t turn on the speakers though…”

Adam glanced out the window, catching sight of at least one of the offending speakers. He activated his remote hacking, checking if he could access the sound system. “I can.”

“What?” Francis looked up, startled.

Adam glanced around the restaurant, glad their booth gave them some privacy. He cracked the window so the signal could get through and focused on the speaker. With a flick of his fingers, the sound system powered on, and he quickly slid the window back shut. 

“...Nice,” Francis said, glancing between Adam and the speakers. He went back to fiddling with his phone as the waiter came up, taking their orders. He told Adam to order for him, which was a surprisingly easy task. He’d picked up on Francis’ meal preferences pretty accurately during all their time in such close quarters. 

To think, their entire time working together with Sarif they never once had lunch. And now Adam knew his preferences well enough to order for him.

He enjoyed watching Francis work. Even if right now his work was purely just him being spiteful. The way he’d furrow his eyebrows, completely focused on his task, like the rest of the world didn’t even exist. It was strangely endearing. Even if he did tend to snap at interruptions. But the key there seemed to be just not interrupting him when he was like that. It would usually pass soon enough.

After the waiter left, he saw a smug smile work onto Frank’s lips. Then moments later, muffled, yet still amazingly loud, shrill, frenetic techno came blaring from the neighboring restaurant. It was hard to see inside, but there was still clearly a buzz of activity, patrons covering their ears, as the wait staff zipped around trying to make the deafening music stop. Outside passers by jumped at the sudden racket, many others stopping to stare at the commotion.

Adam suppressed a snicker. He shouldn’t have enabled him. Honestly he didn’t put a second thought into what Francis had in mind when he activated the speaker, but now he didn’t know what else he could have possibly expected. 

After what was probably less than a minute, but no doubt felt like an eternity, the sound died down with a disgruntled pop from the speakers. It seemed like someone literally pulled the plug on the sound system. 

“You’re cute when you’re being petty and vindictive,” Adam murmured with a fond smile. 

Francis sputtered, blushing a little. “If people want to be assholes, they get to face the consequences.”

Adam snickered.

The lunch passed peacefully and pleasantly. Eventually they made their way back to the apartment. Adam sat on the couch, as Francis took his newly acquired clothes to the washing machine. 

“Jensen! You fucking-!” Francis yelled suddenly. Adam snickered. It seemed he’d found the booty shorts. “If anyone should wear these damn things it’s _you_.”

Adam just laughed.

A few minutes later Francis plopped down on the couch beside him, giving him a shove. “Jerk.”

Adam leaned in, stealing a kiss in response. “You know you like me.”

“Yes... for some reason…” Francis sighed, leaning in to plant another kiss on him. Adam reached up, tangling his fingers in Francis’ ponytail as he pushed forward to deepen the kiss. He loved how the man’s hair felt in his fingers. Francis leaned in, gently pushing Adam down to the couch, and slowly crawled on top of him, planting kisses along his neck. Adam smiled, he’d been waiting for this all day. 

They lay there, hands gingerly caressing one another’s bodies, lips meeting and sometimes straying to taste each other’s neck, jaw, shoulders, as Francis slowly, gently worked his shirt off...It was all so tender. But his cock twitched at the memory of the almost aggressive fingering and hand job in the shower. 

“You know, you’re such an abrasive bitch all the time. I’m surprised you’re so quiet and sweet for this…” Jensen murmured with a smile, giving Pritchard’s ponytail a playful tug. 

“Oh? Would you rather I be rude and narrate?” Francis purred, his voice lower than usual, almost drowning out its usual nazal quality. 

“I’m just saying you’re usually so bossy and nasty…”

“Do you want me to be nasty, Jensen? I can be nasty for you. I owe you for those shorts, after all,” Francis said with a smile, he grabbed Adam’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing more of his neck. 

Adam didn’t manage to stifle the gasp this pulled from his lips, leading Francis to smile broadly, purring against his neck.

“You like it a little rough, don’t you?”

“What gave you that idea?” Adam said with half a laugh, stifling a moan as he felt teeth dig into the flesh where his neck met his shoulder. 

“I have no idea. Maybe it’s all these slutty little noises you make,” Francis murmured, wedging himself between Adam’s legs. A roaming hand made it down to Jensen’s nipple, pinching almost painfully, causing him to make another one of those slutty noises. Pritchard smiled, pinching harder and tugging, making him squirm, his face flushing. It hurt but felt so good. 

Adam started to run a hand down Francis’ stomach, reaching between his legs, only to have it captured, and slammed against the couch. He gasped in surprise, his cock throbbing. 

“So. You _do_ like to be held down,” Francis purred, his other hand leaving his abused nipples to trail down between Jensen’s legs instead, giving him a firm squeeze. “Look at you. We’ve barely started and you’re already hard.”

He stroked him for a little while through his pants, then much to Adam’s dismay stopped to reach up and pin both hands over Adam’s head, diving in for a kiss. Jensen groaned quietly, so turned on his dick pressed painfully against his fly as Francis rutted against him. It was absurd, being “overpowered” by Pritchard. They both knew he wouldn’t actually stand a chance of keeping the guy who could punch through walls pinned, but it was still damn hot regardless. The kiss was aggressive and wet, Francis’ tongue jamming its way into his mouth so far he swore the man would find his tonsils...was everything on Pritchard long?

“Tell me, do you want this monster cock in your ass again? Or would you rather choke on it a little first?” Francis murmured in his ear, finally breaking the kiss, leaving Adam gasping for air.

With his head spinning from everything, there was no way he could formulate an answer. Francis grinned down at him, giving him a few moments before he hummed. “Well, if you’re not using your mouth anyway…”

He sat up, undoing his pants and pushing down his boxers, pulling that enormous cock free. He straddled Jensen, crawling forward, and grasped Adam’s hair, pulling his head up as he pressed the tip of his cock to his lips. Then he hesitated, pulling back slightly.

“Seriously though, if you need to tap out just-” Francis started, his tone serious, demonstrating a tapping motion on his leg. 

Jensen smirked up at him. “Got it,” he said his tongue flicking out to tease the dick so tantalizingly close. 

Francis smiled and thrust forward, his cock sliding into Adam’s eager mouth, and going further than Adam expected, slamming into the back of his throat, making him gag before he pulled back out. Adam’s hands came to Francis’ hips as the cock pushed back in again, Francis’ fingers tightening in his hair as Adam reflexively tried to move his head away.

He struggled to regulate his breathing, taking ragged breaths through his nose as Francis continued his assault on his mouth, his eyes watering from gagging so many times. But _god,_ his own dick throbbed.

“That’s it. Breathe through your nose and swallow that cock like a good little slut. God your mouth feels so good,” Francis purred, his tone almost gentle in contrast with the practical face fucking he was giving Adam. 

His fingers dug into Francis’ hips, practically urging him on. He’d never had his mouth so aggressively fucked before, he felt so out of control, so dominated but by someone he trusted. He had to focus hard on not choking on the fat cock ramming into his face, violating his throat in a way he never even contemplated he was capable of enduring. He was weirdly proud of himself, rising to the challenge, and even enjoying it. It seemed like Francis was doing a great job introducing him to kinks he didn’t even know he had...

Finally Francis pulled back. Adam gasped for air, but didn’t have much time before the other man’s lips were locked to his again in a rough kiss. 

“Fuck, I love how well you take my cock,” Francis growled against his mouth, his hand reaching between them, grabbing Adam’s dick again, starting to rub it roughly through his pants. “I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard. I want to hear you _scream_ for me.”

Adam’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as Francis ripped his pants open, and started jerking him. His other hand roamed Adam’s chest as he kissed down his jaw, and neck, down to his stomach, then back up to his exposed nipple, his tongue flicking and teezing, and teeth occasionally gently biting down.

Just as he felt his orgasm building, Francis let go, his hand replacing his tongue at his nipple, giving it a painful twist. He rutted his dick against Adam’s grinning down at him.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Francis asked.

“Y-yes,” Adam managed to gasp as the assault on his nipples continued. He arched his back at a particularly sharp tweak. They definitely didn’t used to be this sensitive.

Francis reached down, casually stroking his massive dick, raking the nails of his other hand down Adam’s chest. “Hmm? Tell me, what do you want me to do to you…”

“Fuck me,” Adam hissed, reaching for Francis’ member, only to have his hand caught. Francis brought it up to his lips, planting a sloppy kiss on his palm, before licking his way up to his fingers, sucking on the middle one suggestively for a moment. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. It seemed like every time Francis touched his augs it was a jarring, but wonderful experience. He never would have believed it could feel so _good._

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that…where do you want me to put this?” Pritchard said with a sly grin, placing another kiss on his palm, smacking his dick against Adam’s neglected and very erect cock.

“I want you to fuck my ass,” Adam said, sitting up, grinning back at him, stealing a kiss and biting Francis’ lip hard enough it had to sting a little. The man moaned into the kiss, which turned into a low chuckle. 

“Mm, you’ll pay for biting me, you know.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Francis climbed off his lap, and grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet, his other hand grabbing Adam’s hair roughly. He started leading him to the bedroom by his hair, as Adam laughed, stumbling along, enjoying being manhandled by a skinny nerd far too much. 

Francis pushed him towards the bed and spun him around, squatting down to pull Jensen’s pants and underwear off. “Bend over,” he ordered, giving Jensen’s butt a smack for good measure.

Adam smirked, kicking his pants away and doing as he was told while Francis unwrapped a condom. He kicked away his pants as well, unrolling the condom over his huge cock. God that thing was incredible. Adam licked his lips, watching him lube up. He vaguely waved his butt at Francis, in some facsimile of being alluring, but which was mostly just silly. Pritchard smiled, stroking his slick cock, coming to stand behind him, giving his ass a stinging smack before almost roughly smearing additional lube on Adam’s hole. 

“I hope you’re ready for this,” he said, grabbing Adam’s hips. Adam nodded, biting his lip, spreading his legs ever so slightly further apart as the head of Francis’ cock pushed up against his hole.

He sucked in a breath as that huge cock breached him. Francis still took it slowly, but still far faster than the first time. There was almost something relentless about the push. Adam dug his fingers into the sheets, bending over further with a ragged gasp as the massive member steadily forced its way inside of him, spreading him wide. It was so fucking _big._

Once Francis bottomed out, so deep inside Adam could still barely comprehend how it all fit, he pulled back out. _All_ the way out, Adam jumping as the cock left him, only to have it breach him once again, faster this time, more merciless. He couldn’t help the strangled yell of surprise and pleasure as it forced its way in again, burying his face against the blankets, his knees nearly buckling. 

He pulled out again, before plunging in a third time, this time drawing a moan from Adam instead. With that he started pounding into Adam, setting a merciless pace. It was all Adam could do to stay standing, his moans quickly turning to cries of pleasure, muffled into the mattress as Francis’ hips slammed against his ass, pounding that incredible cock deep inside him.

Francis grabbed his hair, pulling his head off the mattress, Adam’s back arching, the pounding not relenting. 

“I said I wanted to hear you scream,” Francis said, his voice sounding ragged as he panted.

Adam couldn’t help but oblige him, crying out as that massive cock continued to violate him, stretching him, burying inside him, slaming across his prostate wildly with every violent stroke. After a few moments Francis started to break rhythm, letting go of Adam’s hair with a grunt, returning both hands to his hips. He slowed for a few strokes, again pulling all the way out before he pushed back in. After a few more strokes, almost letting Adam catch his breath, he started thrusting in earnest once again.

“God you feel so fucking good,” Francis ground out, somhow increasing his pace. Adam cried out into the covers, gasping. 

Adam could barely take it as the pounding continued. He gripped the covers so hard he heard a faint rip, and not long after a small, red alarm message appearing in the corner of his vision. But he couldn’t spare a thought to care, the incredible fucking overwhelming him. He was so far gone practically from the moment they started that he barely even felt his orgasm build, then suddenly he came, shooting ropes of cum on the bed and floor, more seeming to be forced out of him with every wild stroke of that massive cock. 

His knees finally did give way as his orgasm tapered off. Francis pulled out, and spun him around roughly. He yanked off the condom, throwing it aside, almost frantically shoving his huge cock in Adam’s mouth. Adam didn’t have much choice but to swallow the salty pulses of semen shooting down his throat. He moaned feeling Francis’ cock pulsing along his tongue, the man swearing raggedly as he came, his fingers buried in Adam’s hair. 

Finally he slid his cock out of Adam’s mouth, and collapsed onto the bed beside him. Adam also falling back, the room filled with the sound of their panting as they caught their breath.

“ _Holy shit,_ ” Francis finally managed after a good while. 

“No kidding,” Adam panted, beginning to laugh. “I came so hard I got a system warning,” he wheezed, finally taking note of the small message in his vision. His HUD wasn’t even on, his health sensors just seemed to think he was in enough distress to warrant an alert.

Francis barked out a laugh. “What? Seriously?”

“It wants to know if it should use the Link to contact emergency services.”

Francis wheezed, rolling onto his side, eyeing Adam. “I think the calibration on that alarm might be a little off.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of my doctors ever stress tested it for having my brains fucked out…” 

Pritchard continued snickering. “I have to say...that’s a first… I can probably dial back the sensitivity for you when we get around to fixing your other stuff,” he said, shaking his head.

Adam snickered. “Thanks.” He dismissed the message with a smirk. 

“I think you ripped a hole in your blanket too,” Francis said, sticking his finger through a small tear in the blanket, holding it up. It was where Adam had been gripping them. How on earth?

“Son of a bitch…” Adam muttered, looking at the damage. Sure, his augmented hands were strong, but _how?_ Francis just snickered.

The two lay there for a while catching their breath before they were once again tangled in each other’s arms, caressing and kissing. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and Adam loved every second of it. It felt like he was making up for lost time. 

Eventually, they caught their second winds, their dicks wanting in on the action once more. This time they decided to give Adam’s abused asshole a break. According to Francis, he wasn’t opposed to being on the bottom...just given his equipment, he usually found guys who wanted him on top. Not that he was complaining. But Adam was more than happy to switch things around on him for once. 

Adam cherished his moans as he slid inside. Watching that monstrous cock bounce as he fucked him was also a treat. He toyed with it gently with his augmented hand, reminding himself to buy some normal goddamn lube at some point. Francis moaned and cursed, still managing to be bossy while taking Adam’s dick. 

Once they finished they again lay in a sticky heap for a good long while, before deciding to hit the shower and clean up. Though this time the shower, while still full of roaming hands, was tamer. They were both spent. Adam couldn’t remember cumming that many times in such short order since he was a horney teen. 

An additional bonus was that spending so much time just focused on one another’s bodies, on sex, on intimacy, kept him from thinking. Kept him from worrying what came next. Tomorrow he’d be back to work with Interpol, and it sounded like they’d be shipping out. It hurt knowing he had to leave for at least a while, but gave him all the more excuse to savor their time together. 

Eventually they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Jensen dreading having to wake up tomorrow, having to return to the real world with all its problems and misery. He buried his face in Francis’ hair and held him close. He’d worry about all that tomorrow…

* * *

Jensen shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to pay attention to the mission briefing. He’d made a mistake. He was already a little raw from the absolute pounding Pritchard gave him the previous day. Then that morning, in the shower, they’d gone at it _again._ The wet slaps of Francis’ hips against his ass still ringing in his ear. Goddamn it felt good at the time, but it was probably way more than his hole could take. And now he was paying the price.

Still, there was almost something hot about it. Carrying such a physical reminder of their increadible fucking. But damn. It was making it hard to focus.

“Am I boring you, Jensen?” MacReady snapped, interrupting his own briefing.

Jensen sat up in his chair, clearing his throat, trying not to look flustered. “No, Sir.”

The man huffed, and continued. They’d be shipping out later that day for their mission. Jensen really needed to pay attention. They’d likely be gone for three days if all went according to plan. He wouldn’t be returning home to Francis that evening, or the next. It was so damn distracting, thinking about him. He shifted in his chair again, adjusting his shirt, making sure the purple mark near his neck was covered and tried to focus. 

Finally the briefing was over, and Jensen, along with a handful of other agents headed out to catch their plane. 

“You okay, Jensen? You’re walking kind of stiff,” Aria asked, catching up behind him, sounding concerned.

_Fucking, goddamnit…_

“Fine. I guess I just slept weird…think I tweaked my back,” he grumbled. 

“Really? Didn’t know you had enough meat left on you to tweak,” an agent sneered, overhearing the exchange. Jensen scowled. 

“Clever. You come up with that one yourself?” he asked flatly. 

“I made my girlfriend walk funny all the time, if you get my meaning,” another agent laughed.

“Jesus, Coldburn. No wonder she broke up with you. Needed to buy her some lube, goddamn,” Aria snapped.

“Oh, she was plenty lubed up for me.”

“Gross…” Aria groaned.

The urge to go curl up and die somewhere notwithstanding, Jensen managed to remain impassive to the banter, grateful for his lenses helping to mask his expression. 

“Maybe that’s what happened, ey, Jensen? Your boyfriend ride you too hard?” the Coldburn chided.

Jensen gave him the best deadpan stare he could. “Looks like you found me out. But I guess that means I’m getting laid, unlike you…”

The other agents laughed, obviously all assuming it was a joke, despite it being the truth. Sometimes the best lies are true. Jensen smirked. 

“What are you fucking teenagers giggling about in here,” MacReady barked, stomping his way into the plane.

“Oh, just Jensen telling us about banging his boyfriend,” Coldburn said.

“And listening to Coldburn claim he could actually pleasure his ex,” Jensen added.

“I don’t know which of those is less believable. Either way this isn’t a locker room. We’re on a mission. Can you assholes try to behave like professionals?”

The group said, “yes, Sir,” in some staggered facsimile of unison, with wildly varying degrees of enthusiasm, which mostly just came out sounding pathetic. MacReady rolled his eyes, slamming the button for the plane’s door before he sat down. 

“Wait, Jensen, _are_ you gay?” Coldburn asked, Jensen leveled another flat look at him.

“Why, you interested?”

Coldburn backpedaled hard, holding his hands up. “What? No!”

“Then it’s none of your business,” Jensen snapped.

“I’m just curious if you like dicks, that’s all. I know bitches can’t resist mine.”

“Coldburn…” MacReady growled, warningly.

“You wouldn’t have to worry regardless. I have standards,” Jensen said with a sneer, drawing a startled, unexpected laugh from another agent who slapped Coldburn on the shoulder. He apparently hit a sore spot, because Coldburn looked like he’d just been punched in the gut.

“Yeah? I’m so sure. Only freaks want to bang a dude who’s half metal,” Coldburn spat.

“Seriously! Knock it off!” MacReady snapped.

“What? It’s just some team bonding. Getting to know each other!” Coldburn said, flopping down in his seat with a huff.

“Do you want me to make you sit through the sexual harassment training again?” MacReady snapped.

“Jensen’s a guy though!”

“How...how are you this fucking stupid, Coldburn?” MacReady said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Aria sat next to Jensen, buckling in as MacReady continued yelling at the agent for being a pervy dumbass. MacReady was generally a pretty shit boss, but occasionally he seemed to take his job seriously. He wasn’t really expecting to be saved from Coldburn’s questioning. Apparently it was fine to harass Jensen all they wanted about his augs, but probing at his sex life was out of bounds. He had to wonder if MacReady actually gave a shit or only spoke up because of policy. After all, he had told Jensen to get laid, which wasn’t particularly professional of him.

It was funny, too. Before some part of him probably would have agreed with Coldburn’s insult, thinking only a freak or another heavily augmented person would ever be interested in him. And, yes, sure, Francis was certainly some kind of freak, but he wasn’t some aug fetishist. And he was Adam’s. They cared about one another. While he would have acted just as impervious to the jab before, he really was impervious now.

Thinking about it made him want to reach out and stroke Francis’ hair, pull him close. Why again was he so eager to get back to work? The mission had barely started and he already wished it was over so he could return to his apartment. He hated half of these assholes, and they seemed set on making his life miserable. And to add insult to injury, he still couldn’t safely use his link to contact the Collective yet. If they needed him, he was effectively out of reach in many ways.

But he had to keep up appearances of being a good, dedicated agent. Or at least as good as he could stomach.

As the plane took off, Aria leaned over to him, talking low enough they couldn’t be heard over the roar of the engine. “Wait, I’m so sorry, you don’t have to answer, but I gotta ask. _Are_ you gay?” 

Jensen smiled, shaking his head. “Bi,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t really mind telling people he actually liked. But Coldburn needed to go fuck himself.

Aria smiled at him. “Me too.” She held out her metal fist for him to bump, and Jensen obliged with a quiet _clink._

“Fuckin’ clanks whispering, plotting against us over there,” Coldburn muttered, thoroughly in a bad mood after being chewed out. They both leveled icy stares at him, and responded in unison.

“Fuck you, Coldburn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *places "Worlds Okayest Boss" mug on MacReady's desk*
> 
> and behold: the introduction of the Worst OC
> 
> also is the word count of these last few chapters heavily padded with gratuitous fucking? Yes. Yes they are...I swear i have a point for continuing the story other than my unrelenting thirst tho. Really.


	16. Chapter 16

Pritchard lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to chase the creeping dread from his mind. He was, of course, sad when Adam left. Though part of him wondered if it would actually be a relief to finally have time to himself. But before the loneliness could get a chance to manifest, the anxiety and paranoia crept in instead. And to think, he’d been on the verge of trying to move into some random apartment on his own just days before. 

They discussed the security risks of Francis remaining. If it really was the Illuminati who’d sent the creep after him, it’s not like he would be safer anywhere else, short of completely dropping off the grid, which he was unwilling to do quite yet. So he set up extra security measures, like trip lasers on the windows, and a motion detector by the door. He acquired gas grenades and a mask- just for good measure. It was handy having an arms dealer downstairs, even if he was kind of a tool.

At least if he stayed put and they made a move, Adam would know immediately. Or at least as quickly as possible. On the flip side, this way they definitely knew precisely where he was. 

It was...unsettling to say the least. Francis was more than familiar with the kind of clandestine shit the wealthy and powerful could pull off. Hell, he’d been hired by a few of them to pull off some of that clandestine shit. But this incident was something new entirely. For him to be so totally blindsided. He still couldn’t figure everything out. How did they know Adam contacted him? Had that original transmission been compromised? If it was, how did they take so long getting to his apartment? Was it just Jordan’s incompetence? Was it something else?

He was really starting to see why this obsession of Adam’s was so consuming. A rational level of paranoia in their lines of work was one thing. But how could you combat an enemy who could remain almost completely unseen?

Before Adam left, Francis felt confident about the decision to remain. He didn’t think there was any greater risk of him staying there than going anywhere else. They’d “fixed” his link problem, and there was no way for them to know Francis knew anything. His tests came up with nothing. It was extremely unlikely they would know he’d been able to put the pieces together about the burnt out chip. And him finding the bug at all was a complete stroke of dumb luck.

Maybe the people would even appreciate Francis’ presence in Adam’s life. He could serve as a distraction. He frowned a little at that thought. He hoped he could be a distraction. That he could pull him out of his stupid mission entirely. Adam had some kind of death wish in all of this. He was mad for trying to face down these people. Honestly, what did he hope to achieve other than his own demise? Even with the so called Collective helping him. For all anyone knew, he was as disposable to them as he was to the Illuminati. 

Francis could kick himself. He’d concluded at the very start of this trip that having any sort of attraction to Adam was a terrible idea. He had a hero complex and a drinking problem. But they were well past going back now. 

Maybe with some time away he would realize Francis was a distraction, and send him packing. They had, after all, never exchanged two words about the actual nature of their relationship. For all Francis knew Adam just needed to get off a few times, after being starved of affection for so long, to get his head on straight, and would move on. He _did_ seem to be a little preoccupied with being physical. Francis wasn’t exactly complaining at the time, but now that he had some distance...

No. Adam wasn’t the kind of person to just use him for his dick. Hopefully. It was all strange though. Adam could do so much better than Francis. Okay, sure, he was well equipped. But he was still just a weird, unattractive, socially hopeless nerd. Surely with some time away, some time without being physical clouding his mind Adam was bound to realize his mistake.

His coworker seemed to be into him. She’d probably be a better fit. At least she was cute. She also had more in common with him. What did Francis have to offer? A bad attitude and an ugly face.

Francis bundled himself up in the blankets and mashed his face into his pillow. He’d almost set up on the couch to sleep reflexively. It felt weird being in the bed by himself. Part of him didn’t believe the bleak thoughts his mind was coming up with, but part of him felt almost certain that Adam would just change his mind the second he came back and realized who, _what_ he’d fucked the last few days.

After a few hours failing to fall asleep, Francis gave up, and got out of bed. He started pacing the living room, then finally he settled down on the couch, and opened his laptop. A messenger window popped up almost immediately.

Artemis420:  
_Hey bitch, you fuck him yet?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Yes_

Artemis420:  
_Haha, seriously though how’s it going?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_As soon as he gets back he’s going to realize he fucked up and why did I do this to myself goddamnit._

Artemis420:  
_Woah. Wait hold up. what?_  
_You were serious?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Yeah._  
_And now he’s gone on a mission for work._  
_And I’m still here like a sitting duck because I’m fucking stupid._  
_Pretending he’ll still be interested when he gets back instead of coming to his senses_

Artemis420:  
_Woah, woah. What? Calm down._  
_What happened?_

Francis explained the events of the past few days as succinctly as he could, sparing her the gorey details.

Artemis420:  
_That’s great!_  
_It sounds to me like he’s really into you_  
_You’re just freaking out because it’s what you do._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_I’ve been in situations like this before_

Artemis420:  
_Have you though?_  
_Usually you fuck then find out you hate each other_  
_This is the other way around. He liked you, THEN fucked you._

Nucl3arsnake:  
_It’s not always like that._  
_And who says he liked me?_

Artemis420:  
_Anyone with a brain._  
_He was REALLY worried about you when you went missing_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Yeah, okay, so just because he’s not a heartless monster..._  
_He’s severed all contact with me before, I don’t know why he wouldn't just do it again_  
_It’s not like I’m anyone worth liking_  
_I’m an obnoxious ugly loudmouth_

Artemis420:  
_Okay shit for brains._  
_Listen._  
_You just think he’ll hate you because YOU hate you_  
_And you really need to fucking stop that_  
_You’re my friend and I don’t tolerate people hating on my friends._  
_And if you don’t stop being so mean to my friend I will fly out there and kick your ass._

Pritchard stared at the message, cracking a faint smile.

Nucl3arsnake:  
_That doesn’t make any sense, you know._  
_But thank you._

Artemis420:  
_Want to play Call of Duty 29 and piss off some tweens?_

Nucl3arsnake:  
_Sure._

Francis ended up playing until the sun started bleeding in through the blinds, feeling much less terrible over all, and feeling foolish for having worked himself up so much. His doubts weren’t gone, but he at least felt a little better about everything. 

He finally fell asleep on the couch, and was faintly amused with himself when he woke up late in the afternoon. Not only had he fallen asleep on the couch instead of the bed, it seemed it wasn’t the time shift coming to Prague and the sun that had fixed Francis’ sleep schedule. It was apparently Adam himself. Now the second he was gone his absurd routine reasserted itself. 

Pritchard didn’t step foot outside that entire day. Or the next. The third day he cautiously ventured out to get more food in the afternoon. Going out after dark without a chaperone still scared him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t know what time Adam would be back, and was unwilling to starve himself waiting like a frightened waif, as much as he was tempted to...There’d been no sign of any hostile activity. 

Hopefully they’d just thought he was an annoying friend slumming at Adam’s apartment after they had _his_ apartment destroyed. If there was no longer a risk to them, why would they continue targeting him? After all, they hadn’t killed Koller. They apparently just drowned him in hot babes or something. Why couldn’t they have shipped Francis off somewhere to be surrounded by hot guys? Though he supposed it wouldn’t have worked, he would have still tried to help _this_ hot guy in the end. 

Did they know he was into Adam before he did? Now _that_ was a disturbing thought.

Another day passed, and Pritchard tried not to stew. The mission was supposed to last three days. It was now day four, and still no word from Adam. He stared through his laptop screen, unable to focus. Not that it mattered, over the last few days he’d essentially caught up on all of his jobs and contracts. He was pretty set on cash for a good while. Especially with no rent, and Jensen’s supply of Neuropozyne. 

In his time not spent screwing around, stewing, or working, he’d been cataloging and tracking down every last asshole on the forum thread who’d spoken against him. He’d tracked down a good number so far, as he predicted, mostly people he didn’t know. He’d infected several of their computers with devastating viruses regardless. At least the ones he could determine weren’t skilled hackers or otherwise well connected. His plans for everyone else would have to be a bit more...cautious. He was anxious even doing preliminary investigations on some of them without Adam around.

Though at least one of the people he tracked down was just some punk kid. Instead of ruining his computer he just found the kid’s name and address, and sent it to him in an email, with a reminder to watch himself if he felt like playing with the big boys. As well as a note that he was having mercy on the kid on account of his being young and dumb, and that he really needed to reevaluate how he treated strangers. Hopefully it would be a gentile life lesson. Even if the little edgy prick _had_ suggested the removal of Francis’ fingernails...

He considered hacking TF29 to see if he couldn’t find out more about Adam’s whereabouts, what he was supposed to be doing, any word on his team, but that seemed like a great way to get himself and Adam in trouble. Peter was pretty competent, it would be difficult to evade his notice. Even if he didn’t figure out it was Francis being nosey, it would probably alarm him needlessly. 

Just as he was slowly working his way into another tizzy, he heard a code punched into the front door. Francis leapt to his feet, grabbing his stun gun. Part of him was exhilarated at the notion that Adam was back, and a larger part was terrified thinking perhaps an intruder was here. 

“Christ! Jensen, y-you should text first, I was worried-” Francis stammered out as Adam stepped inside. He looked the hacker over with a faint smirk.

“I’m gone for a few days and it’s ‘Jensen’ again?” he said, kicking off his shoes and starting to slowly approach, arms spread wide.

“I-I, Adam, I’m sorry. You startled me…”

Adam approached, reaching out but seeming hesitant to touch him. Francis felt uneasy, _was_ he having second thoughts?

“Are you going to drop the stun gun? Or...” Adam asked, hands hovering inches from Francis’ shoulders. The hacker blinked. 

“O-oh! Right, sorry,” he tossed the device onto the couch. He’d forgotten he’d even picked it up. 

With the weapon out of the way, Adam closed the distance between them, pulling Francis in, pressing their lips together, holding him tight. Francis practically melted into the kiss, all the fear and uncertainty plaguing him the last several days fading away. He wound his arms around Adam, clinging. 

After a good, long while Adam broke off the kiss, nuzzling into Francis’ neck instead, his beard tickling his sensitive skin. “I missed you,” he murmured.

Francis smiled. “I missed you too…”

“I’ll remember to text next time,” Adam said with a small warm chuckle.

“Mm, good. I’d hate to taze you on accident.”

Adam snorted at that, lifting his head. Their lips met again, and it was like he never left. Sure, four days wasn't that long, but it felt like an eternity. 

“I was afraid you’d come to your senses while you were away…” Francis confessed when their lips finally parted again. 

“Come to my senses?”

“About me.”

“What sense is there to come to? Knowing there’s a cute nerd waiting for me at home is...nice,” Adam said. He was trying to keep his tone light, teasing, but he faltered at the end.

“I’m just glad you made it back in one piece,” Francis said, reaching up to brush his fingers through Adam’s hair. He smiled at Francis, catching the hand and nuzzling into it, before pulling back to stifle a yawn.

“Sorry, I’m...tired as hell,” he murmured, from the dark bags under his eyes, Francis didn’t doubt it. 

Francis smiled. “Understandable. Want to sit down?”

Adam grunted his acknowledgment, and they finally slid out of each other’s arms. Adam grabbed himself a glass of water before he pretty much crumpled onto the couch. Francis never would have imagined someone half made out of metal could look so boneless. 

Francis moved to the couch, watching him closely as he took a long drink, wincing faintly after tilting his head back. 

“You want anything else?” Francis asked as he set the now empty glass down.

“Nah, I’m good…” Adam said, trailing off as Pritchard reached out and started gently massaging his neck. He practically purred, sagging even further into the couch. “Okay that…”

Francis smiled. “Here, lay down, I’ll give you a back rub.”

Adam was happy to oblige, though they paused to take his shirt off before he lay face down on the couch. Francis straddled him, rubbing his hands up and down his back, looking over the beautiful expanse of muscle dotted with the black obstruction of his augs. Occasional red marks on his skin told a story about Adam’s mission, and perhaps why it went long. None of them were serious, but there were enough. He faintly wondered if he’d been shot, the blows absorbed by his armor, or if more mundane damage occurred.

Francis was no expert at back massages, especially on people with artificial spines and random ports on their body. But did his best, and Adam seemed to appreciate it, steadily relaxing under his touch, the tension oozing out of his back and shoulders, until Francis noticed his breathing changed, slow and deep. He’d fallen asleep. 

Francis shook his head with a smile, squishing himself onto the couch half next to him, half on top of him, burying his face against the back of his neck. He wasn’t tired himself, but he was more than happy to lay with Adam for a while, pressed up against him. He was warm and smelled good and god it was ridiculous how much Francis missed him after four days. Maybe after he had vanished on Francis for so long on multiple occasions with no word...it’s like he assumed that was going to happen again. 

But this time was different. This time he was looking forward to coming home, coming back to Francis. Did that mean they were a couple? 

Eventually as he lay there, Adam rolled onto his back, still sound asleep, and Francis started fiddling with one of Adam’s hands. The unnatural smooth polymers and alloys that made up his hands always looked so perfect from a distance. But up close they were knicked and scuffed, adding character, and a reminder of everything Adam had been through. They were perfectly imperfect. 

There was something weirdly satisfying about flexing his finger joints, feeling how smoothly they moved. There was so little resistance when he slept, far less than flesh and bone. It was like his own personal fidget toy, only attached to the man he...god. Did he love Adam? He couldn’t think of any other explanation for the feelings that flooded him. Or for the terror at the notion of being left again. 

It was a little frightening to think about. Even if Adam was happy to have him around, who could really say how he felt in return.

Adam woke after a time, probably partly thanks to Francis’ fiddling. He blinked, turning to the hacker with a smile. “Jeeze, didn’t mean to doze off on you.”

“You’re fine.”

“I guess I never asked how things were for you here while I was gone,” Adam said through a stifled yawn. 

“Quiet. Uneventful. Got a little worried when you didn’t get back yesterday…”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t have a secure way to contact you or I would have let you know,” Adam said with a sigh. “I guess once the link gets fixed it’ll make things easier?”

Francis nodded. Though worrying about staying in touch after the link was fixed would mean Francis staying with him. But for how long? He brought a hand up, running his fingers down the side of his face. Those beautiful mechanical eyes watching him, as Francis’ fingers traced along the lense ports, trailing down his jaw. Who gave him the right to be so damn handsome? 

“So you’d want me sticking around that long?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. What are we?” Francis finally asked softly. The question at the root of all of his anxiety. Adam huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.

“We’re too big for this couch in this position, is what,” Adam said with a chuckle, shifting a little. It was true, they were pretty well squished together. Francis shook his head. He obviously wasn’t in the mood to answer.

“How did the mission go?” he asked, letting him out this time.

“Exhausting, but successful. Went long, obviously…” he chuckled, low in his throat, nuzzling into Francis’ neck, placing a kiss on it. “I was sore as hell after what you did to me in the shower.”

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be. It was... hot,” Adam confessed into his neck, almost like he was hiding his face. Francis couldn’t help the broad smile that worked its way onto his lips, or the faint throb that reached his groin.

“God I love that you’re so fucking dirty…” Francis wheezed.

Adam emitted a low purr of approval, leaning up again, capturing Francis’ lips in a fiery kiss. He bit Francis’ lip, before his tongue started probing for access, which Francis was happy to grant. It wasn’t long before pretty much all thoughts were washed from Francis’ mind, as their hands roamed each other’s bodies. They soon fumbled their way into the bedroom, and Francis again found himself buried in Adam’s needy warmth. His gasps and moans of pleasure the sweetest sounds in the world.

The next morning he was gone again, but this time returned in the evening. They settled into something of a routine, though Adam’s work schedule was naturally a little...inconsistent, he came back regularly enough to keep Francis’ paranoia from burning too bright. And eventually the hacker felt safe going out on his own during the day. 

Finally they got word from Kat that she had their parts. Or most of their parts at least. Francis decided to pick them up regardless. Hardware really was not his forte, having extra time to fiddle with some of the more complex parts of the build was worthwhile. Someone more skilled than himself could probably make it work with less specific parts, but Francis didn’t want to jerryrig anything. 

The hacker strolled through the chilly streets of Prague, probably looking a little calmer than he had on his last few afternoon outings. There continued to be no sign anyone was after him. Of course, his paranoia would never truly die down, but at least he was becoming functional again. He frowned at the upside down number on Kat’s apartment door. Would she ever fix that thing?

He barely knocked before Kat opened the door with a smile, looking Francis over. “Just you today?”

“Yeah, Adam has to work…” he muttered, stepping inside. Either she’d taken up tidying herself, or she’d found a new client to clean her apartment. Or the old one was back at it. The place was surprisingly spotless, except for the ever present dildo pile. 

“Mm, then I guess that means I have you all to myself,” Kat purred as she closed the door quietly behind them.

“ _Still_ gay…”

She chuckled. “So, you fucked him yet?”

Francis’ mouth fell open, sputtering. “I- wha-”

“You _did_ ,” she gasped, clasping her hands together, leaning forward. “It’s written all over your face…”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, you can trust me to be discreet,” she said with a broad smile. 

Francis leveled a flat glare, then sagged. “How did you know…?”

Her smile broadened, if that was even possible. “You two were obviously close, you bicker like an old married couple, you’re gay, he’s gorgeous; what else was there to figure out?” she said with a laugh, but elaborated as Pritchard’s glare persisted. “Okay. And he told me he was bi while I was vetting him. But the real tell is, he flinched whenever I touched him. Ever so slightly. He avoids contact. But with you...he voluntarily touches you...” 

Francis opened his mouth to protest, but she was _right._ He hadn’t really noticed. He recognized Adam’s standoffishness the moment he got his augs, it never really went away. It just never occurred to him that he was an exception. Looking back, she was absolutely correct. So much for his damn useless social aug. 

In fact, Jensen hadn’t shied away from him since getting his augs. At least not that Francis could remember. Though he refused to believe Adam had been attracted to him that whole time. It felt like there must be some other explanation. 

“It’s sweet. I think you two are good for each other,” she said, sounding unexpectedly sincere. Francis couldn’t help the color rising to his face. He cleared his throat, trying to shake it away. 

“I uh. Thanks?”

“It’s hard to find people you can really care about and trust in this world. You two have that, I can tell,” she said trailing away with a wistful smile. 

She was right, though. And maybe that was the difference, why Adam never shied away from him. Trust. Their professional relationship was...terrible when he first got augmented. But they trusted each other. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, Pritchard went behind his back regularly, and Adam liked to steal his shit. But there was something honest in their rivalry, that made real trust easy to cultivate.

“So, do you want to double team him?”

“E- _excuse_ me?” Francis sputtered.

“Y’know, we could spitroast him,” she said, doing a dramatic pelvic thrust. “I bet he’d be into it.”

Well _that_ was a turn in the conversation. Would Adam be into it? He shook his head. Why was he even _questioning_ that, it’s not like he was going to say yes. Though he couldn’t help but imagine Adam on all fours on the bed, rocking forward and choking on Francis’ dick with with every aggressive thrust of some huge artificial cock into his ass. 

“So much for your no couples policy,” Francis tried to sneer, struggling not to sound alarmed or turned on. He didn’t need this pervert planting weird ideas in his head. She giggled.

“I’m not hearing a no…?”

“I came here for parts, not debauchery,” Francis huffed. 

She giggled, sliding the poster aside to open her secret room. “Just. Think about it.”

Pritchard huffed, folding his arms as she wandered into the room, muttering to herself about where she put his items. The cleanliness in the apartment stood in stark contrast to the chaos in her aug supply room. It seemed she must have gotten a hearty shipment in recently, with half empty boxes and open cases scattered about haphazardly. Francis’ eyes roamed the space, it was still impressive. He could only wonder how much of her income came from her augs verses her sex work.

There were all sorts of things he’d never seen before, from experimental looking limbs to...He frowned down at an item, trying to puzzle out what it was. He picked it up, examining it as Kat continued rummaging through a box. Though she glanced up as he held it, her face turning to a look of pure delight. Francis blinked, suddenly realizing what he was holding, they were heavy duty handcuffs, or rather arm cuffs, the type for incapacitating powerful augmented limbs. He quickly set them down.

“I can get you a good deal-”

“No! No thank you!” Francis exclaimed, his voice nearly cracking as he stepped away from the cuffs. Why did she have those? Okay stupid question...Of course she had those…

“Well, I found your stuff. But...I had one last thing I wanted to show you,” she said, striding over and handing him several tiny bits of tech, mostly contained in individual antistatic baggies. She reached over to a shelf and grabbed a small black box with two long cords protruding from it, which were bundled up in tidy knots. She grinned broadly, holding it out for Pritchard to see. He recognized what it was almost immediately, his face turning hot yet again. “Ever had jacked sex before?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he admitted. Some industrious perverts in the augmented community found a way to connect people with common cerebral augs, allowing them to almost share sensations. And it was fucking amazing.

“Has Adam?”

“I wouldn’t know-” he muttered. 

He frowned as she waved the device at him, that insufferable mischievous grin on her lips. Finally he sighed.

“...how much?”

Soon enough Francis managed to escape Kat’s perversion dungeon, with his valuable tech and...stupid impulse purchase. What could he say? It sounded fun. 

As he made his way back to the apartment, after a while he started to realize the streets were unfamiliar. He’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. He scowled, reaching into his pocket for his phone. Hopefully he wasn’t too far off, he was getting cold.

Again he was reminded of the myriad reasons he hated the goddamn city. He couldn’t say it was impossible for him to get lost in Detroit anymore, it was a big city after all. But sooner or later he was bound to recognize a street, or find his way to a subway terminal, or at least just orient which direction he should start walking to find one of those. Prague’s meandering streets constantly seemed to be spitting him out where he least expected. 

Sure, he ran the risk of wandering into unfriendly gang territory in Detroit. But same went for Prague. And at least usually in Detroit “attack on sight” situations were pretty clearly marked...Usually in a language he could actually read. Here he had to guess what sort of death trap he was walking into. And he knew the rules with Detroit gangs. Generally if you just kept your head down and headed straight through they wouldn’t mess with you. So long as your wardrobe wasn’t accidentally the wrong colors, or you didn’t have visible augs in the wrong place. Luckily orange black and white weren’t popular gang colors…and his augs were well hidden.

It was a pathetic state of affairs when he was homesick for a gang riddled hellhole like Detroit. 

It struck him how Adam didn’t seem to share his inexplicable fondness for Detroit. Wasn’t Adam _from_ Detroit? Then again, Francis didn’t exactly hold fond memories of his home town. Quite the contrary. Maybe he was so attached to the shithole of a city because it was the first place he’d managed to settle down in and call home on his own, after the misery of his childhood and escaping the yoke of his asshole parents. It was a shithole, but it was _his_ shithole. 

Francis pulled out his phone with a sigh, trying to pull up his GPS, only for his scowl to deepen when the screen read no signal. He’d been working on the phone earlier, reprogramming it and hot rodding it for hacking after his kidnappers oh so graciously destroyed his old one. He must have fucked something up in the process.

Digging deep into his technical knowhow, Francis slapped the phone against his palm several times, hoping it was some loose solder somewhere and he’d jar it back into place...no luck. 

After a few minutes spent messing with his phone and cursing, a woman approached him. 

“Do you need help?” she asked sweetly, in a heavily accented voice. Francis jumped when she spoke, part of him noticed her approach, but tuned her out, too focused on his technical woes. 

“I ah. Suppose I got a little turned around…” Francis said, eyeing her, his paranoia immediately spiking. She had an old, beat up augmented right arm. From the way her jacket collapsed in on the skeletal construction, it looked like it connected all the way up at her shoulder. And it moved a little jerkily. He couldn’t imagine their nemesis sending someone after him with such inferior tech. And her smile looked sincere...an observation his CASIE backed up. 

“Is dangerous out here for tourists, where do you need to be?” she asked.

“Believe me I know, though...I’m not a tourist, just...new,” he muttered. Though what his status was depended on which fake papers he pulled out. Most were work visas. He described the general area of the apartment. She seemed trustworthy, but he wasn’t about to give her his address. Her smile broadened.

“Yes, I know that area well! I’m actually headed that way. My girlfriend lives over there,” she said brightly, her eyes twinkling with fondness. “I don’t suppose you know her. Irina Babko?”

Francis’ mouth fell open momentarily. “I… _seriously?_ ”

“You do know her!” 

“I uh. No. I guess I’ve met her mother. Repeatedly. I think she tried to set me up with your girlfriend...”

The woman laughed. “Sounds about right. We haven’t told her we’re dating yet, don’t want her trying to micromanage our relationship. If you could keep it between us…”

“I...uh, of course-”

“Want to walk with me?”

Francis nodded, and the two headed down the street. It didn’t take long for their surroundings to start looking familiar again. It seemed Francis hadn’t wandered too far off course. As they walked they shared stupid stories about Ms. Babko. Francis hated to admit it, but it was actually fun gossiping with this near total stranger. 

While working at Sarif he wasn’t particularly well liked, sure, but there were at least people around to talk to. With the exception of Artemis and now Adam, he’d really become something of a shut in since then. It was nice to try to be an actual human once in a while. 

Before the walk could become too pleasant, however, they rounded a corner to find themselves at a new and unexpected checkpoint. The narrow street was half blocked with a patrol car, a smug looking cop immediately strode up to them and demanded their papers. 

He handed over his documents with a sigh, noticing his companion checking through her pockets out of the corner of his eye, as the cop looked over his. Her motions slowly grew more and more frantic as her hands came up empty. The cop handed Francis his papers back, and turned to the woman with a sneer. 

“Papers?” he demanded again, as she started patting herself down, a panicked glint in her eyes. 

“I-I swear I have them. Someone must have pick-pocketed me o-or- I can give you my ID number-”

“You know the rules. Papers or I take you in,” the cop said, his hand resting none too casually on his weapon as he stepped forward, tears starting to well in the woman’s eyes. Francis took a step back from the two, tucking his own forged documents away. 

Before he knew it, the cop was forcing the woman into the back of the patrol car, as tears streamed down her face, and she pleaded with the officer in Czech. Francis knew full well the fact that she probably did actually have papers somewhere was unlikely to save her, unless she had people with enough power to save her and vouch for her. The authorities grasped any excuse, no matter how flimsy, to ship off an aug. Someone like Ms. Babko or her daughter weren’t the kind of people with power to stop it. And from how old and ragged her clothes and aug were, he doubted she had anyone like that in her life. 

Maybe Adam would be able to do something? But he’d probably never met her. And it was liable to pull even more unwanted scrutiny down on his head. Not to mention Francis wasn’t sure when he’d be back from his latest mission. She was liable to be gone by then.

Francis glanced around nervously as he almost instinctively sank into a nearby alleyway, watching helplessly as the cop slammed the door, and started radioing in something. 

Surely there had to be _something_ he could do…

Francis pulled out his phone again. His GPS antenna may be broken, but everything else was working just fine. And he already knew the dipshit cops in this city ran half their tech wirelessly. He found the dash cam, and the helmet cam and disabled them both, before triggering the patrol car’s alarm. 

The cop swore-or at last Francis was pretty sure that was profanity, and tried to turn it off with his key fob. Francis overrode it. Then locked the patrol car when he tried to get inside. As the man kicked at the tires in frustration, mashing the button on his key fob over and over again, Francis crept out of his alleyway approaching quietly from behind. 

He slid his hand into his jacket, and grabbed his taser. In a quick motion he pulled it out, and jammed it into the back of the cop’s neck, against the exposed skin between his body armor and his helmet. The man convulsed and dropped like a rock. With any luck the jolt would scramble his brain as well. 

Francis quickly unlocked the patrol car, and pulled his sleeve over his hand before opening the back door. He grabbed the woman, who stared up at him in wide eyed shock, and practically dragged her out of the back seat, and started sprinting with her away.

Now that everything was said and done, it felt like a fog lifted. Why the _fuck_ did he do that? Was he losing his mind? There were two cameras, and he’d just radioed in Francis’ fake papers. He’d have to burn that set. And be careful showing his face. And for what? Adam’s annoying neighbor’s daughter’s girlfriend? Why the fuck did he care what happened to her? 

One thing was certain, he was spending too much time around Adam. His particular brand of idiocy was apparently starting to rub off on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm not late posting you're late yeah  
> -Behold: a porn free chapter. But that doesn't mean it's not a thirsty chapter...  
> -Also behold: the many freakouts of Frank


	17. Chapter 17

It wasn’t fair. Having completely artificial eyes should do away with all forms of eye strain. But for some weird reason, they didn’t. Jensen’s eyes burned, or probably more accurately his eyelids burned. The glow of the monitor digging into his brain. He retracted his lenses, rubbing his eyes. You’d think the lenses would eliminate glare problems. Who could say what was causing the headache and dry eyes, but it was annoying regardless. Writing reports was always his least favorite part of his job, with good reason. 

He could have sworn he had fewer eye problems when he had organic eyes. At least after so recent a checkup he knew the pain probably wasn’t from any malfunctions. He probably just needed to bother medical for more eye drops again.

“Hey, Aug One, do you have the stats on- holy shit,” Coldburn started, before Jensen swiveled in his chair to give him a flat scowl. He’d taken to calling himself and Aria ‘Aug One’ and ‘Aug Two’ respectively. No one ever accused him of being a clever man. He’d been extrodinarily salty with both of them since Mac forced him to sit through sexual harassment training again.

“What?” Jensen grumbled, this was precisely what he needed to help with his growing headache.

“Your _eyes_ are fake? What fucking psycho replaces their _eyes_?” Coldburn said, his voice growing tight and strained. 

Adam rolled his eyes at the comment. He could always point out he hadn’t exactly volunteered for the procedure, but there was no point with these people. It made no difference anyway, what if he _had_ chosen to? What was the harm in it? “What do you want?”

Coldburn continued to look thoroughly creeped out, stammering something about needing arsenal stats from their last mission. Jensen gave him a flat glare. He was probably needing to account for what he did on the mission, and making sure whatever he bullshitted into his report wouldn’t throw up any red flags. 

Jensen _did_ have the stats. An analyst already sent them out to the whole damn team. 

“Ask Monica, she sends those out…” Jensen grumbled, swiveling in his chair to grab the cereal box near his desk. It was light in his grip, and he frowned, giving it a slight shake and peering inside. Empty. Damn. 

“Yeah, I know, she sent it out already but I accidentally deleted the email. You should have it too,” Coldburn snapped. 

Jensen sighed, absentmindedly starting to flatten the empty box, wondering why Coldburn was bothering _him_ of all people for this. Though as he glanced around the room, it seemed everyone else had drifted out for now, leaving just the two of them and MacReady sealed away in his office. Their boss had been on some sort of call for the better part of an hour, one that didn’t seem to be going well if the occasional exclamations of annoyance and dismay that drifted through the wall were any indication. 

Jensen sighed. “Wouldn’t it just be in your trash folder?”

“Nah, cleared that out.”

“What? How the fuck...”

“C’mon man don’t be a dick, just forward it over would you?”

“What, and miss the opportunity to have you reveal to Monica that you’re a dumbass?” Jensen said, not even attempting to hide his smug smile. It was common knowledge among the team that the agent had a _thing_ for their coworker. He’d also been dumped by his “crazy bitch” ex a month or so prior. Possibly _because_ of his thing for their coworker. Adam didn’t know the details, in fact he didn’t want to know any of what he already did. But Coldburn tended to make his problems everyone’s problem, so half of TF29 probably knew his interpersonal drama.

“She’s busy!”

“And I’m not?”

“You were going to snack on your stupid fucking cereal!” 

“Maybe this way you’ll finally learn your lesson about being disorganized.” 

“The fuck you talking about? Have you seen your desk lately? It’s a stye, calling me disorganized-”

“You permanently deleted an email someone sent you _this morning._ ”

“Could you _assholes_ act like _goddamn professionals_ for _once_ in your lives! Jensen, just send him the goddamn email! I hoped you’d loosen up after your damn vacation but I swear you’re worse than ever! And Coldburn, learn to organize your shit!” Both men jumped as MacReady appeared to dress them down. Jensen hadn’t notice him leaving his office, and had no idea how much he’d heard. 

Jensen grumbled his acknowledgment, even if he rolled his eyes at the idea of his suspension being a “vacation.” He swiveled back around in his chair to send the goddamn email as Mac stomped out of the room. 

“I really don’t know why the bosses put up with your shit, Jensen,” Coldburn grumbled.

“ _My_ shit?” Jensen snapped, spinning back around in his chair pretty much the second he sent the email off. Coldburn stood leaning against the wall, pretty much bodily trapping Jensen into his corner. “Aren’t you the one who just had to take harassment training?”

“Yeah, because you were being a little bitch and wouldn’t just admit if you suck dick or not.”

“Go fuck yourself, Coldburn.”

“C’mon man, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just tell me.”

“You’re right, it _is_ nothing to be embarrassed about. And you can still go to hell,” Jensen grumbled, spinning back to his computer, ignoring the towering asshole behind him. 

Coldburn continued needling him for a time, seemingly trying to get a rise out of him, until Mac came back, at which point the agent drifted away, like he’d never been doing anything. Jensen was relieved when he wrapped up his report and got to go home for the day. 

Once he left the office, he found his feet carrying him to the place he always went after a bad day at work, or a bad mission, or a frustrating encounter with douchebag coworkers. He ordered himself a shot of absinthe and downed it. The familiar burn washing down his throat felt like an old friend, warming his stomach, and dulling his frustration with the world. A fresh glass of whiskey slid in front of him before he even realized what he was doing. He stared uncertainly down at the amber liquid as it seemed to almost shimmer in the dull light of the bar. 

What did it matter? He’d already downed that first shot. And his system had just been flushed, he should have an easier time processing alcohol out of his system, right? What difference did another drink make? Besides, it was already on his tab. It would be a waste not to drink it.

The whiskey was gone all too soon, and he clenched his fist before waving down the bartender a third time. Guilt and shame stewed in the back of his mind while warmth and relaxation spread from his gut. He was a grown ass adult, he could have a couple drinks after a hard day from work, it wasn’t a big deal. He just needed to not get wasted. Right? He had a decent enough buzz after two. Three was probably pushing it.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself away from the bar. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? Again he found himself missing normalcy, missing a life where the world wasn’t crumbling around him and he felt so damn compelled to drink. A world where he’d stopped the Incident from happening. Or if it just all never happened at all.

He wondered what his life would be like if he was still working at Sarif Industries. With a challenging but mundane job, probably still carrying a torch for his ex, but blissfully unaware of her betrayal, just thinking they didn’t work out for normal reasons. He wondered if he and Francis ever would have hooked up in such a world. A slight smile cracked his hard glare as he imagined the gossip storm them being in a relationship would have kicked off. He could practically see the stunned, confused, and probably amused look on Malik’s face. Frank was not a well liked man around the office, unlike Adam. It would have been absolutely baffling to so many.

Hell, it was absolutely baffling to Adam occasionally _now._

Sarif didn’t have any sort of policies limiting interoffice romances at least. In the peak of irony, Sarif felt such a policy was needlessly intrusive in his employee’s private lives. It was hard to imagine they would hook up in such a world, though. Francis’ life would be so much better. He’d have a steady job, and a _home,_ instead of living out of a backpack couch surfing half a world away from everything he knew.

Adam frowned at the thought. He needed to figure out somewhere for Francis to put his belongings. With his apartment half unpacked, Adam had a hard enough time organizing his _own_ shit, but still. Should he just buy another dresser? A weird sense of panic almost welled at the thought. That felt very...long term. Would Francis be staying that long? Would he want to? Did Adam want him to? He really hadn’t thought that far ahead, he’d actively avoided thinking about it, in fact.

There were a few things that were certain about this hypothetical alternative world. He wouldn’t end up essentially living with Francis _before_ they even started a relationship. And he probably wouldn’t drink so much. He worried vaguely that Francis would know he’d been drinking, and be pissed about it. He probably drank a little more than was advisable before the Incident, but he never felt _compelled_ to drink. Never drank himself into unconsciousness apparently trying to erase the world. 

Something like his most recent stop was a little more normal, right? Just a couple drinks to take the edge off. So having those drinks hadn’t been a big deal...

When he finally arrived back at his apartment, he was surprised to find it empty. He checked around quickly, tamping down the immediate sense of dread that welled up in his gut at Francis’ unexpected absence. There’d been no sign the last few weeks that anyone was after him. It would be downright bizarre for their enemies to grab him now. There was no sign of a struggle in the apartment, and considering the fight he put up last time, Adam would expect to see _something._

The cops would be the only other suspect, though Adam would expect to still see a struggle. And probably a kicked open door. After Francis’ last trip to Kat’s, he confessed to Adam what happened in a panicked deluge of word vomit. It was strange, Francis was no stranger to illegal troublemaking, but he seemed so shaken. Maybe he wasn’t used to getting up to mischief in person? Or was he still dealing with having so recently been kidnapped, it put him off kilter? 

Come to think of it, he’d been acting pretty strange in general the past week.

He shook his head. Regardless, Francis was an adult. Maybe a reclusive weirdo who hated going outside, but it would be reasonable to assume he stepped out for something. Adam pulled out his phone and sent a quick message off, asking where he was. As weird and clingy as it could come across, considering recent events, he was sure Francis would understand…

_”Sorry, should have given you a heads up. On my way back. Just got the rest of the stuff from our dominatrix friend.”_

Adam snorted at the message, well, if anyone had hacked his phone, they’d have all sorts of conclusions to draw from _that_ response. Though Adam trusted Francis’ assurances that it was secure.

_”That’s good to hear.”_ Adam wrote back. Not only was he not in any trouble, the rest of the parts finally came in, and they could get his link fixed up once and for all. _”Try not to tazer any cops on your way home.”_ Adam wrote with a smirk.

_”Haw haw, you’re hilarious.”_ Francis wrote back. Adam snickered at the text, he could practically hear the sarcasm dripping off of the reply.

Luckily after a bit of hacking, and a bit of more legitimate snooping with his Interpol contacts, it looked like both Francis and the woman he helped would be fine after their exciting encounter. Either the officer was trying to save face by describing Francis as being about eighty pounds heavier than he was, or his memory was extremely poor. And after the number of cops Adam had fucked with around the city, he couldn’t help but tease Francis for his practical meltdown over his uncharacteristic show of heroism, though Francis didn’t find it the least bit amusing.

“Sorry if I don’t spend my leisure time sticking my dick into wasps nests like you do,” Francis had finally snapped at him.

“What exactly do you call what we did to the Blade?”

“That was business! And different! It was planned! And thought out.”

“Was it though?”

Francis scoffed. “Yes! ...Well. I guess as well as it could be…”

Adam snorted, trapping the sulking hacker in a hug before he could slink out of the room. “Okay, okay, sorry to poke fun. It was a good thing you did. You’re right, she probably wouldn’t have stood a chance if you hadn’t intervened…”

Francis grumbled, leaning into him. “I guess. But from now on I’m leaving the unnecessary heroics to you.”

Adam smiled at the memory. Francis had far more of a noble streek than he liked to admit, even to himself. Not a huge one, perhaps, far more than he let on.

They texted back and forth a few times, coming to the conclusion Francis should grab takeout on his way home.

Adam wandered into the bathroom, planning to change out of his work clothes, when he opened the dryer to discover it empty. He essentially never put away his laundry. Though admittedly with now needing to wash two people’s clothes, this habit had started to become something of a problem. Had Francis taken care of it? The cooking was one thing, but doing his laundry seemed...extraordinailry out of character.

Adam went to the bedroom, half expecting to see the clothes piled on the bed. Instead when he finally opened his dresser he found the clothes were, indeed, folded and put away. But when he opened the drawer with his sweats, suddenly everything made sense.

On top of his neatly folded pants sat a new pair of booty shorts spread across them in their hot pink glory, golden cursive scrawling _“Princess”_ across the ass.

Adam shook his head. Francis put away his laundry as part of an act of petty revenge. It all made sense now.

Adam stripped off his work clothes, tossed them aside, and examined the shorts. They seemed...small. But stretchy. They legs were so short his boxers would show if he left them on. So he kicked his boxers aside before pulling the shorts on. What was he supposed to do? _Not_ wear the stupid shorts Frank bought him out of spite?

Adam headed back to the living room, and plopped down on the couch, propping one foot up on the coffee table. As he waited for Francis, he grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels. He wasn’t in the mood for Picus today. 

Finally the door opened, announcing Francis’ return. 

“I hope you like dumplings because they had a bunch of different kinds and I couldn’t make up my mind,” Francis said, his voice going muffled as he took a bite of one of said dumplings. “So I ended up getting like a million of them-” Francis stopped abruptly as he rounded the couch, finally spotting Adam. Or more precisely the shorts. He wheezed, doubling over and coughing, choking on his bite of dumpling. He hastily put the bag down on the coffee table, growing red as he choked.

“ _WHAT_ are you _wearing,_ ” he finally demanded once he was able to breathe, still coughing and sputtering from time to time. 

“You’re the one that bought them for me. Don’t you like them?” Adam asked, leaning back casually on the couch. 

“I didn’t expect you to actually wear them!”

“Are you saying I don’t look good?”

“It’s so much worse than I could have possibly imagined,” Francis wheezed.

“Harsh”

“I can see your _entire_ scrotum…” Francis pointed out, Adam looked down, and Frank was right. The shorts weren’t really built to accommodate...external genitalia. He spread his legs wider, making the effect even worse.

“Yeah. And?”

“God- just. Take them off!” Francis exclaimed, backing away to the kitchen to grab some water, essentially hiding behind the kitchen island, his face flaming red, though it was hard to say how much of the flush was from embarrassment, and how much was from choking on the dumpling. 

Adam smirked at him, finally getting up off the couch. “You brought this on yourself, you know…” he said, approaching to lean on the other side of the counter. 

“Yes and I regret it immensely, now _please._ ”

Adam grinned, closing the distance, and wrapping his arms around Francis’ waist. “Here I thought you got them so you could put on yours and we could match.”

“Not on your _life,_ ” Francis wheezed, leaning away.

Adam snickered, his eyes drifting to their dinner, and a small antistatic baggie laying next to the food, presumably the original item Francis picked up.

“So, does that mean you have all of the parts you need?” Adam asked, nodding to the bag, not letting Francis escape the situation of his own making quite yet, still holding the man firmly in his grip. 

“Yes…”

“How long before you’re ready to install everything?” Adam asked.

“I still need to solder it to the other pieces and check some firmwear things and testing, but it should be ready by tomorrow as long as I don’t fuck anything up, it mean there- but, will you _please_ change. I _cannot_ take you seriously like this…” Francis said, putting both hands on his chest to push him away. Adam chuckled, finally letting himself be removed.

“Fine, fine, I guess. They _are_ riding up my ass.”

“Of course they are! Look at them!” Francis sputtered as Adam finally relented. 

“Okay, okay, but that’s good to hear,” Adam said as he strolled away, glancing over his shoulder, amused to catch Francis staring at his ass. The hacker looked away defiantly, his face still beat red.

He was truly looking forward to having a fully functional link back. Being back at work had been awful, and even if he’d gone longer stints without the Collective calling on him to do something supposedly useful, knowing it was essentially out of bounds for the moment was irritating. They’d sent a few messages over the compromised link, ones they carefully crafted in advance to make it sound like they still believed it was a secure channel, but so far they didn’t even have any solid misinformation they wanted to relay. 

He was growing increasingly irritated with the Collective. While he still felt it was his best option at the moment, being kept so far in the dark was frustrating. And for a “collective,” they seemed to defer an awful lot of authority to Janus. Whoever, whatever the fuck he was. Having Francis around was a nice distraction from all the bullshit. But also knowing he could be home with him instead of at TF29 being hassled by assholes almost made it worse.

Francis breathed a visible sigh of relief when he reemerged in sweats. He’d unpacked all the takeout he grabbed and there were, in fact, a shitload of dumplings. But they looked good, so Adam wasn’t about to complain. 

Adam approached, walking up behind him and sliding a hand around Francis’ middle again as the man tried to plate up the food, jostling and distracting him. Adam chuckled into his hair, as Francis leaned against him with a resigned sigh.

“Plan backfired, didn’t it?”

“Yes…” Francis groaned as Adam leaned his chin on the man’s shoulder, though after a few moments he chuckled softly. “You know. I guess I knew you were physical, but I never guessed you would be quite this...handsy.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m not being clingy, am I?”

“Well. Yes? Quite literally. But I don’t mind,” Francis said. 

“I guess I’m just making up for lost time.”

“It hasn’t seriously been since Dr. Reed…?” Francis asked, sounding alarmed, trying to turn in Adam’s arms, but he again held him stubbornly, though gently in place.

“Yeah.”

“What? Why? How? With a face like yours…? I’m surprised you don’t have to beat women off with a stick. And men.”

Adam snorted, Francis seemed to be underestimating how put off people were by his appearance since his augs. But it was still a nice sentiment to hear spoken so sincerely. He got comments on his looks frequently, many of which were even positive. But it was rarely did he get the impression someone would _actually_ be interested in him. They seemed to regard him more as an object than a person. “I’ve been busy.”

“Okay sure, but fucking someone doesn’t take _that_ much time.”

“I’m just not into one night stands.”

“Fair enough,” Francis said with a sigh, leaning into him. “So, does that mean we’re a couple?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re dodging the question,” Francis muttered.

Adam grunted against his neck. There it was again. He’d put the question out of his mind as quickly as it came the last time. He was just enjoying it while it lasted. Did he expect it to last longer? Was Francis his “boyfriend?” What did he want out of it? Just a warm body to nuzzle and fuck or something more? Like he said, he wasn’t really into one night stands, though this clearly had lasted more than one night.

Their whole relationship was strange, yet felt natural at the same time. Especially considering how much they hated each other before; even if they did become friends in the end. But he felt so good in his arms. And the sex was...well. It was extraordinary. 

“Do we have to label it?” Adam murmured. Francis sighed again, though sounding much less contented this time.

“I suppose not,” he grumbled, turning to face Adam successfully this time. Adam leaned in to steal a kiss, which seemed to ameliorate Francis for a moment, before he went stiff, his eyes fluttering open. He gently pushed Adam away, looking him over. “Have you been _drinking?_ ”

Adam sagged. Well shit. Here he thought it had mostly been processed out of his system. He sighed. “Yes,” he confessed. “I was on autopilot, there was some bullshit at work and...I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I had the second drink in my hand. But I stopped before I got wasted?”

Francis frowned, almost looking more saddened than disappointed or angry. Adam honestly wondered if that was worse. He was at least used to dealing with pissed off Francis. “I suppose it’s difficult with a dealer on every corner…” he muttered.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize to me. But...in the future if you feel the need. Just call, okay? And maybe think about getting like a real sponsor. There have to be some AA type groups around. God knows I needed a sponsor…” Francis said.

Adam frowned. “Like I said, I didn’t even think about it.”

Francis sighed. “Right. Well. We should eat before this all gets cold,” he said, finally pulling himself free of Adam’s grip. He was annoyed. Adam had definitely seen him far angrier, and his general operating mode was a little brusk and hostile, but he was definitely at least a little mad. Though Adam honestly couldn’t tell if it was over the drinking or dodging the relationship question. Probably both. 

Adam sighed, leaning against the counter as Francis wandered off to the couch with his plate of food. He felt defeated. He couldn’t really fuck this up any worse, could he?

While they’d spent many evenings in comfortable silence, this evening was a little...tenser. Francis spent it tinkering with the parts, soldering and probing, hooking the device up to his computer, typing in incomprehensible lines of code. His plate of food more or less forgotten after he’d eaten one and a half more dumplings. Eventually, as Adam prepared for bed, Francis announced that after a few final tests, it would be ready for installation.

Adam eagerly wrapped his arms around him as Francis started to undress, planting a warm kiss on his lips. He didn’t like the idea of Francis going to bed upset with him. Luckily it didn’t take much, and Francis was soon melting in his arms. 

Adam crawled on top of him as they made it to the bed, pulling the covers over them. Francis was cold, and Adam’s augmented limbs probably weren’t doing a whole lot to warm him up. Maybe if Adam couldn’t explain how he felt in words to Francis, or himself, he could at least show him. 

He slid under the covers, kissing his way down Francis’ abdomen as the man squirmed under him, groping along Adam’s shoulders and hair. Adam smiled, giving Francis’ hip bone a nip as he caressed and kneaded his thighs, until he kissed his way to Francis’ rapidly hardening member, laying large across his stomach. He dragged his tongue along the underside, pulling a moan from Francis. It was without question one of the most gorgeous cocks he’d ever seen. 

He’d asked Francis, jokingly, if the man had ever done porn, considering how gifted he was. He was completely floored when the man turned bright red and admitted he _had._ Or at least he’d jerked off anonymously on camera a few times for money in his twenties. A harrowing time when he was flat broke and probably not particularly sober. Adam had to admit, while the circumstances weren’t great, he’d love to see something like that now...

The head of his cock fit neatly into his mouth as Adam’s tongue slid across its surface, drawing another throaty moan from Francis. Adam had really grown to love the feeling of Frank slamming that huge cock into his mouth, forcing it down his throat, but not today. He didn’t want Francis to lift a finger. It was the _princess’s_ turn to do the work. He lubed up his augmented hand--they’d finally purchased normal lube--as he worked Francis with his mouth. 

He idly stroked himself as he slid his lips and tongue over Francis’s length. Though eventually he pulled the hand away, pausing in his ministrations to dribble more lube onto his free hand. As he returned Francis’ cock to his lips, he slid a slick finger between Francis’ cheeks, gently teasing his hole, making him groan quietly. 

The teasing continued for quite some time, Adam swirling his digits around his hole, poking and prodding, letting a finger slide in the slightest bit. He was still nervous about going past a knuckle, fearing what his exposed finger joints would do to the sensitive tissue, though from the way Francis bucked into his hand, the hacker didn’t seem to share his concerns. 

Finally Adam pulled away, though not without planting one last kiss on the plump mushroom head of Francis’ cock. He grabbed him by the hips, gently rolling him over onto his stomach, Francis letting out something of a satisfied purr as he navigated into position, arching his back, raising his ass off the bed, pretty much presenting it to Adam. Adam smiled, at least he’d made his intentions clear, and Francis was ready and eager.

Adam quickly snagged a pillow, tucking it under Francis’ hips before he slicked up his own aching cock. Francis whimpered as Adam slowly eased himself inside, until he was buried to the hilt, laying on top of him, his face pressed against the back of his neck. He slowly rocked his hips into him, not even pulling out just pushing him further into the pillow.

“Oh god, Adam…” Franics whined, his words muffled into the mattress. 

“Do you like that?” Adam purred against his ear, slowly beginning to thrust, rocking their bodies together, savoring every inch of skin they had pressed together, warm and complete under the blankets. 

“Y-yes,” Francis managed, rocking his hips, pressing his ass up against Adam. He slid his sleek augmented hands up Francis’ body, along his arms, sliding his hands over the top of Francis’, lacing their fingers together. He pushed his hands into the mattress as he slowly increased the urgency of his thrusts, Francis moaning almost pitifully under him, gasping an occasional breathless _“Adam...”_

Francis moaned as Adam slowly lengthened his thrusts, seemingly equal parts humping into the pillow and bucking his ass against Adam’s cock. Adam took his time, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy. He enjoyed a hard fucking, there was no doubt about that, but this was also wonderful in its own, perfect way. 

“Fuck, yes, right there, don’t stop,” Francis wheezed into the sheets, making Adam smile. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet, it almost felt strange not having Francis boss him around. Adam was, of course, more than happy to follow his demand. Adam nuzzled into the back of his neck, planting kisses, breathing in the scent of his hair while he kept a steady pace, rocking his cock in Francis’ deliciously tight hole, which seemed to grow tighter as the hackers moans intensified. 

Francis’ moans and whimpers continued as Adam gently thrust into him. Eventually, he felt so damn good, Adam couldn’t take it. He used his legs to nudge Francis’ knees even further apart, granting him better access to push in even deeper, Francis emitting a choked off cry of pleasure as he did. 

“Fuck, yes, Adam, cum in my ass, fuck…” Francis wheezed breathlessly as Adam picked up speed. A few deep thrusts later he came, his cock throbbing deep in Francis’ ass, unloading pulse after pulse of cum in him as he moaned against Francis’ back. Frances laughed a low, satisfied sound into the mattress, wiggling, pushing back against Adam’s over sensitive cock, burying him even further in his body. 

Adam breathed raggedly against the back of Francis’ neck as he came down, his head practically spinning. But he couldn’t take too long a break, his job wasn’t finished quite yet. He pulled out, and rolled Francis back over, and pushing the pillow out of the way. Though he did pause as he removed it, noticing the center of the pillowcase was absolutely _soaked_ with precum. He couldn’t help the self satisfied smirk as he leaned down to bury a fiery kiss on Francis’ lips, before sliding down to his still leaking cock. 

Francis loved to cum down his throat, and Adam wasn’t about to deny him the opportunity. It didn’t take long to finish him off with his mouth. His tongue sliding across the very salty, sensitive underside of Francis’ member, making him moan, digging his fingers into Adam’s scalp as he thrust into his mouth. He greedily swallowed the salty pumps of cum. 

Finally Adam crawled back up, planting a quick kiss on Francis’ lips before collapsing beside him, gathering him in his arms, running his fingers through his hair. The way Francis nuzzled into him with a satisfied hum, Adam felt forgiven for his earlier...indiscretions. He knew he’d have to figure out the answer to Francis’ question some day, but for the moment? All he knew was that he wanted to fall asleep holding him close.

They drifted off together, secure in each other’s arms, until the rhythmic buzz of Francis’ phone woke them. Francis groaned faintly, reluctantly rolling out of Adam’s arms to grab the offending device. He squinted at the painfully bright screen, seeming to do a double take as he read the name. Francis rubbed his eyes, before he finally slowly sat up, his scowl visible in the faint glow of the screen.

“What is it?” Adam murmured, sleepily rubbing a hand along Francis’ back.

Francis seemed frozen, staring down at the still buzzing phone. “My mother,” he finally responded as Adam propped himself on his elbows, watching him.

“At this time of night?”

“She probably doesn’t know I’m in Europe.”

“You gonna answer?” Adam asked, puzzled. Francis didn’t mention his parents often, but when he did it was rarely anything good. Francis continued to stare at the buzzing phone in his hand, until it finally went quiet, kicking over to voicemail, giving Adam his answer. 

After a time a voicemail alert appeared on the screen. He continued to frown down at it in silence as Adam sat up in bed next to him, sliding an arm around him. “Everything okay?”

“I haven’t spoken to my parents in _years,_ ” Francis said, staring at the message in disbelief. 

“What? Really? I didn’t realize it was that bad…” Adam said, blinking.

“It doesn’t matter, go back to sleep…”

“I’m pretty sure it does matter. Why did she call?”

“No idea.”

“Are you going to listen to the message?”

“Not sure yet.”

Adam sighed, growing frustrated with Francis’ half answers. Adam wasn’t the most dutiful son in the world when it came to keeping in touch with his parents, but he couldn’t imagine going so long without reaching out, or without _them_ reaching out to him. “Why haven’t you spoken to them for so long?”

Francis snorted, his lip curling. “Ask _them,_ ” he snapped, setting the phone back down on the nightstand.

“You don’t know?”

“Oh, I have plenty of ideas…” Francis snapped, bristling, then finally sighed as Adam gently squeezed him, relaxing against Adam’s bare chest. “It’s a long story.”

“That’s fine.”

“You have work in the morning.”

“It’ll all be paperwork, I’ll have a hard time staying awake either way,” Adam said. 

Francis sighed, shaking his head. “Fine…” He took a deep breath. “My parents very much wanted to live the ‘two point five children and white picket fence’ life, then to retire and babysit their grandkids someday. Instead they got me. 

“They lost their dream house because of my medical bills before I was even a teen. We had to move into a tiny apartment. Of course they _said_ they didn’t blame me for it, but it was obviously a strain. Then it turned out I was gay. Then I became a hacker and a criminal with a drug problem. The arrest was the final straw. They seemed to be upset I turned out the way I did. As if I did it because I was ungrateful for everything they did supporting me with my condition.

“I think they could have handled me just being disabled, or gay, or struggling with drugs or being involved in crime. But all of them?” Francis huffed, rolling his eyes. “I guess they wanted the child they imagined, not the one they got. And they couldn’t afford to have another one. They’d never admit it, but they blamed me.

“They didn’t once come to visit me in prison, called maybe once or twice the two and a half years I was in there. Once I was out? Maybe a call every year or six months. Not that I was exactly eager to hear from them. They were constantly judgmental. It wasn’t worth the misery. It tapered off from there. Probably haven’t spoken in five years?”

“I’m sorry…” Adam murmured, still rubbing Francis’ back. The man scoffed.

“Don’t be. It’s just family drama. Everyone has it.”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘just family drama.’ But... aren’t you curious why they would be calling now?”

Francis groaned, reaching for the phone again. After a moment staring down at the screen, he leaned forward, and punched a few buttons, listening to the message. 

Adam watched his face as the message played, he couldn’t make out the words, but could hear the soft voice of Francis’ mother. The voice sounded maybe a little strained, but not too upset. Though without the words, it was hard to tell. When Francis hung up the phone he looked puzzled, eyebrows knit together as he stared down at the screen.

“Everything okay?” Adam asked, running his hand up and down Francis’ back. 

“Yeah, I guess they were just...checking in? Wanted me to call them.”

“Are you going to?”

“Aren’t you just full of questions?” Francis snapped in a burning flash of annoyance. Though as the hand on his back momentarily paused, he frowned. “Sorry…” He murmured.

Adam smiled softly. He couldn’t be too surprised at Francis snapping at him. “No, I should apologize, I guess I was kind of interrogating you.”

Francis snorted, reaching down to pat Adam’s leg, stifling a yawn. He then slid out of the bed and scrounged around in the dark for a discarded pair of sweatpants.

“Might as well get it over with,” he grumbled, taking the phone and walking into the living room.

After a few beats Adam slid out of bed as well, trailing slowly behind. Though he stayed in the hallway, leaning against the wall, watching. He was worried, no question about it. What would cause his mother to break that much silence? Had someone died? That would be his first assumption about a call in the middle of the night, but Francis was probably right. They’d have no reason to know he was in such a distant time zone.

Francis seemed to take a steadying breath before he hit the call button. 

The answer on the other end was almost immediate. 

“Hi…” Francis said a little stiffly. The conversation progressed equally stiffly, Francis giving one or two word responses. “What do you want?” being about as complicated a phrase as he uttered, followed by an incredulous “why _now?_ ”

Well, at least it didn’t sound like anyone had died. Adam frowned, Francis seemed puzzled, and annoyed. Then again, with him annoyed was pretty much a default setting. After a long pause Francis threw his free hand up in irritation, snapping into the phone “ _now_ you’re worried?! I didn’t even hear from you after the Incident!”

Adam winced. That was one hell of an indictment of their relationship… He could vividly remember his mother’s near hysterical sobs over the phone when he let his parents know he was alive. When he visited she hugged him so hard you’d think she was trying to crush the air out of him. Of course, they’d been convinced along with the rest of the world that he’d been dead for a year. Still, he knew they looked for him...

The surprisingly subdued utterance, “I’m fine,” startled Adam out of his thoughts. Though any bit of sincerity or softness in Francis’ posture vanished a few moments later.

“Oh yes. Big tech firms are _thrilled_ to have augmented ex cons on their payroll these days,” he sneered, his tone virtually dripping with sarcasm. That tone was a bit more in line with what he’d expect out of Francis.

Adam quietly approached, sliding his arms around Francis waist, and rested his head on the shoulder opposite the phone. Francis was so tense he might as well have been hugging a stone, but within a few moments relaxed into Adam’s arms with a sigh.

“Well. I’m not dead. So…” he muttered, leaning back against Adam. 

The conversation drifted, and soon they seemed to be figuring out the time difference. Presumably so they could call at some time that wasn’t one in the morning. Finally they bid him goodnight, and he hung up with a sigh.

“That didn’t sound too bad,” Adam murmured into his neck.

“It wasn’t. We should go back to bed though,” he spun around in Adam’s arms, then glanced down his naked form, his eyes slowly trailing back up, brow raised, a smirk on his lips. “Adam. Seriously. What if I’d video called them?”

“...Honestly didn’t really think about that? Assumed you wouldn’t...”

He wheezed faintly. “I suppose that was a safe assumption.”

Adam pulled him close, it was cold standing naked in the middle of his apartment. “Let’s go back to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both boys got baggage  
> also welcome back to the bone train


	18. Chapter 18

Pritchard scowled down at his laptop, bouncing his heel restlessly on the ground. He sipped his blessedly caffeinated coffee as he worked up the nerve to hit the stupid call button. Okay, maybe the caffeine was making this situation slightly worse. Especially now that he was no longer essentially immune. He shouldn’t be this anxious, it was silly. 

Talking to his parents shouldn’t be a difficult undertaking. Sure, they hadn’t _really_ spoken, other than that phone call, for the past several years. But he felt like he was suddenly regressing back into an angry teen, thinking about dealing with them. He was a goddamn grown ass man now, and had been for a goodly while. This shouldn’t be difficult. It shouldn't be anything.

Calling last night hadn’t been that hard. Maybe because he was half asleep and it was just a phone call, not a video chat. Now he’d have to actually see them. And possibly worse, they’d see him. He knew he looked like hell, with seemingly permanent bags under his eyes, his damn hair falling out, and a complexion like wet cement. It was a miracle Adam found him remotely attractive. And a bit baffling. There was a reason his “dating” profiles usually featured him from the chest down…

Not to mention they’d already ragged on his career choice. Or honestly his _lack_ of choice at this point. Like he told them, getting a legitimate job as an augmented ex con and known hacker was borderline impossible. It’s not like he didn’t try. But he needed Neuropozine and _food_ so holding out for some non existent person willing to hire him for legitimate work wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t even get interviewed for an IT job, let alone something like head of cyber security again.

He still had to wonder why they were trying to get in touch _now._ They let slip that they’d heard about his kidnapping somehow. Which was just great. Even so, nearly a month after the fact seemed a little late to be suddenly worried, but who knows when or _how_ they found out about it. Unless they’d undergone some dramatic personality changes in the last few years, his parents weren’t really the types to creep around dark web forums.

Finally he sighed, shoulders sagging as he hit the call button. They asked for this. He could just hear his mother now. _Still have the long hair? You really should cut it, I know a great barber in town…_

When the video feed popped up Francis was a little surprised to see how _old_ they looked. Sure, they hadn’t spoken in five years, but it occurred to him they hadn’t seen each other in far longer. He struggled to remember the last time. It was at a cousin’s wedding, if he recalled correctly. They more or less ignored each other. But it was for his favorite cousin, so he had to go.

His mother’s hair had gone almost completely gray--or she’d decided to stop dying it, one of the two. And his father was nearly completely bald. Francis tried not to scowl too much at his impending future. Great. Just great. At least the man kept most of his hair until his 50s.

His mother beamed an almost sincere looking smile. “Hi, Frankie!”

“Hi…” Pritchard grumbled back. “What do you want?”

His mother’s smile flagged a little, but she forced it back into place, crows feet crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Like I said before. We’re...we’ve been worried about you. We heard what happened and-”

“I wanted to ask. _How_ did you hear about that?” Francis snapped, perhaps a little more abruptly than he meant to.

“Oh. Well, this reporter called-”

“I think he was more of a blogger,” his father interrupted.

“This _fellow_ called. I guess he runs a website where he talks about internet gossip. He wanted our take on the situation.”

“What was the website?” Francis asked, clenching his jaw. It seemed like he needed to add even more names to his shit list. And just when he was finally getting through destroying the computers of everyone who wished him ill on that forum.

“It was some place called-” 

“-You’re not going to mess with his website, are you?” his father again interrupted. His mother blinked, then nodded with a wide eyed look of concern.

“What makes you think I’d do something like that?” Pritchard sneered.

“We know how you are, son,” his father rumbled, folding his arms. 

“Oh _do_ you now?”

“Boys…” his mother scolded both of them, rolling her eyes before she continued. “It’s. The reporter- blogger...whatever. He told us some of the readers of the forum had bad things happen. One fellow’s laptop apparently caught fire while he was sitting in bed with it! I didn’t even know that was possible. He had to go to the hospital.”

Francis snorted, trying to keep the look of delight from his face. He wondered who it was. Some of the viruses and attacks he used would make computers overheat and disabled the internal safety shut downs, so the electronics would thoroughly destroy themselves. Some melting and smoke wasn’t uncommon, but managing to start a fire was just lucky. 

“Generally no, there isn’t a way to remotely set a laptop on fire. Sounds like a hardware problem. And it sounds like what he gets for trying to get someone _tortured to death._ ”

“Frank, I understand you might be angry-” his father started in his agonizingly monotone calm way, Francis clenched his hands into fists.

“ _Might_ be? Of _course_ I’m angry at the guy who tried to _murder_ me and the sick bastards who egged him on!”

“I think we’re getting off track here. Frankie. We’re just. We’re just glad you’re okay,” his mother tried to interject, but his father barely seemed to notice.

“So it’s true. What on earth happened? What did you do?” his father asked.

“What...what did I _do?!_ ” Francis exclaimed, his voice growing strangled and shrill. 

“ _Larry,_ ” his mother hissed, elbowing his father in the ribs. 

“This is absurd, why did I bother-” Francis snapped.

“Frankie, please, your father is sorry. _Aren’t you honey_?” his mother hissed with a clench toothed smile. The way her arm flexed and his father winced he suspected she had something of a death grip on the man’s arm just out of frame. 

“Yeah, sorry son, I didn’t mean it like that. I just. Well. With you being back into hacking and all. There’s some dangerous people out there.”

“You don’t say,” Pritchard droned. 

“I-I guess we’re just surprised you went back to hacking. After you had such a good job at Sarif Industries…I’m surprised Mr. Sarif didn’t help you find a new position...” his mother said meekly.

“Didn’t I already explain the augmented ex-con thing?” Pritchard grumbled. 

To an extent Sarif _had_ tried to give him recommendations. But according to him Pritchard’s ‘interpersonal skills’ were a bit of a problem that he couldn’t lie about. As if avoiding the topic was impossible. The ungrateful prick. After everything he’d done for Sarif Industries. He stayed on that damn ship till it landed on the bottom of the ocean. After all, he was not one to half ass things. And as much as he mistrusted Sarif, he _did_ owe him for giving Francis a shot. At least Sarif still paid well for the Palisade job, even if it went a little sideways. 

“Right. Well. We’re still glad to see you’re okay. So. You are living in Europe now? Where? What brought that about? Do you have a job out there?” his mother asked eagerly.

Francis sighed. “I’m in Prague. I just came out here to help a friend with some business.”

“So, you do have a job!”

“It is more like a favor.”

His mother blinked, exchanging confused glances with his father. “Must be one hell of a friend to get you to Prague for a favor. I hear that place is awful,” he said.

“Oh, it's not so bad. You know, just your run of the mill anti-aug police state.”

“Goodness! When are you coming back?” his mother asked.

Francis shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He wished he knew. 

“Where are you staying while you’re there? Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’m staying at my friend’s place…”

Slowly the conversation drifted to safer territory. His mother prattling on about what they’d been up to in retirement, and what all his relatives were up to. To be fair, he actually kept in touch with a couple of his least infuriating relatives, so very little was news. That’s how _he_ knew his parents were fine after the incident, after all. But he humored them. 

It sounded like their lives were going quite well. They’d managed to save up to buy a new dream house with Francis out of the picture--they didn’t explicitly say that was how they finally managed, but it wasn’t hard to guess. 

Almost everyone Francis knew or was close to was involved in the aug industry, or augmented themselves when the incident hit, and had their lives virtually destroyed. Sometimes he forgot many middle class non-augmented people were now doing quite well for themselves. After the initial chaos, there were plenty of high paying job openings that used to be held by augmented individuals that were now designated naturals only. And with a new found underclass of cheap labor, many naturals in management were riding easy. Not to mention plenty of those augmented people who had their lives ended or destroyed lost their houses, making for a vast and cheap foreclosure market for people who fared the incident better to take advantage of.

Eventually his mother spat out the real truth of why they finally tried to get in touch: they’d been seeing a couple’s counselor, who was concerned about their estrangement with their own son. While Francis wasn’t exactly impressed it took a therapist to get them to realize their family dynamic was a little fucked, it was at least surprisingly honest of them to admit it. And it was good that they had a mundane reason for reaching out, and this wasn’t part of some other bullshit he’d have to deal with.

Eventually he heard the door open, and glanced up with surprise to see Adam walk in, shaking rain from his coat.

“Oh, hi, I wasn’t expecting you back so early…” Francis said, turning from the screen, making it clear to his parents someone else had entered the room.

“Yeah, got everything finished, and figured I was better off leaving before I finally snapped and strangled my coworker-” Adam started before he stopped, noticing the video chat screen. He cleared his throat awkwardly, running a hand through his soaking wet hair. Francis didn’t realize it was raining quite so hard out.

“Is that your friend?” Pritchard’s mother asked, sounding almost suspiciously chipper, peering up from her seat, as if she'd be able to see beyond the camera’s field of view if she looked hard enough. 

“Yes…” Francis grumbled, as Adam walked to the couch, leaning over the back, his lenses retracting. He gave Francis’ parents a friendly smile and wave, leaning down so his face was in frame, leaving him uncomfortably close to Francis' head.

“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard,” he said with a smile. Francis scowled. Then scowled even _harder_ as he felt an icy cold droplet of water land on the back of his neck.

“You’re _dripping_ on me!” Francis hissed, dodging out of the way, while Adam chuckled. 

Adam and Francis’ parents exchanged friendly introductions, before Adam gave Francis a damp pat on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt. It’s nice meeting you. I’ll let you get back to your conversation. And go dry off…”

A few moments later, his mother grinned brightly. “He’s _handsome,_ ” she said in a stage whisper. Francis rolled his eyes.

“You know he can probably still hear you…” Francis said, a little surprised at her reaction. Despite having an augmented son, they’d always been a touch...dubious about heavily augmented individuals. They felt augments were wonderful for people with disabilities, but drew the line at doing it “recreationally.” Even if Adam _technically_ fell into the former category for the most part, no one would guess that from looking at him.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she asked eagerly. Well, that explained it. Francis scowled. Not just at the question, but at the fact that he didn’t really have a straight answer. He’d _love_ to know, if Adam would ever let them talk about it. And he was fairly certain an answer of ‘we’re cohabitating and fucking a lot’ probably wasn’t what his mother was looking for. Though the look of horror she’d probably have was tempting. But she seemed so happy. It was weird. 

“Since when do you care about my love life?” Francis tried not to snap, with only marginal success. Every time he brought a boy home growing up his parents had been less than impressed. Mostly just awkward. Like they had no idea what to do. When Francis brought _regular_ friends home they always seemed equally dubious, like they suspected they were secretly a boyfriend, and couldn’t decide if they needed to demand he leave his bedroom door open or not.

It was all very silly. Why would he bother bringing a boyfriend home to fool around and risk getting caught when there were plenty of abandoned buildings to blow each other in? They even seemed to blame one of his earliest boyfriends for turning him into a hacker. Which was absurd. Francis only met the guy because they were both already rejected computer nerds.

As he got older and moved away, they realized he didn’t so much have boyfriends anymore than flings. Partly because of his burgeoning drug problem, partly because of no luck on the "serious" dating scene, partly because he was an adult and just wanted to get his dick wet sometimes. They’d ridiculed him at some point for his “whoring around.” He told them to stuff their heteronormative chaste bullshit in their asses, if he recalled. He wasn’t exactly sober for that conversation. It could have been much worse. 

“I just want to know that you’re happy. I know we weren’t always...understanding about. You know. Being gay…”

Francis snorted, rolling his eyes.

“We tried! We just. Well, your father and I are straight, and none of our brothers and sisters were gay-”

“What are you talking about? Aunt Marjorie is bisexual!”

“Really?” Francis’ father said, glancing to his wife in surprise.

“I suppose…”

Francis ran a hand down his face, groaning in exasperation. “What do you mean you _suppose?_ ”

“I guess I just never really saw much of it growing up? She always brought so many boys around. And she’s married to Steven now.”

Francis pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was amazing how quickly an almost sweet sentiment turned into him wanting to reach through the camera and smack his parents. 

“I think the point your mother is trying to make is we were ignorant before. But we’ve met some very nice folks who’ve set us right. We’ve gotten really close with our new neighbors, this gay couple, Todd and Chad, and they’ve really taught us a lot.”

Francis’ eye twitched. “...Did you say their names were...Todd and Chad?” 

“Yes. Do you know them?” His mother asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes, because all of us homosexuals know each other…” Francis said with a sigh. Well, he supposed it was inevitable two dudes with those names would get together someday. 

“There’s no need to be sarcastic, son,” his father scolded.

“Right. Well. I’m glad you’re learning so much. Twenty-five or so years late, but better late than never,” Francis grumbled. His mother sighed, rolling her eyes while his father just scowled. 

His mother laid a gentle hand on his father’s arm with a smile. “Well. We just want you to know, we’re happy for you.”

“I never said- You know what? Never mind. I should go, I have work to do. And let Adam get use of his living room back...” he grumbled. It was also true; he needed to get to work. Half the reason Adam came home early was probably to get his Infolink fixed once and for all. In addition to concerns about his obnoxious coworker. After complaining about him before, he had to sternly warn Pritchard _not_ to do anything untoward to any of his electronic devices. He was right, Chang could probably put the pieces together, which would be inconvenient. It wasn’t Francis’ fault he had a signature. That was just good branding. 

“Of course. Thank you for calling. We should talk again soon,” his father said with a firm nod, seeming as eager to end the call as Francis felt. Though he at least sounded sincere about staying in touch.

“Yes! M-maybe you could visit when you come back to the states?” his mother offered. Francis sighed.

“Don’t hold your breath. But a call. Sure...whatever,” he grumbled.

“Well. Whatever you’re ready for. Goodbye, love you, Sweetie!” his mother chimed before the call ended. Francis stared blankly at the screen. _Sweetie?_ She probably hadn’t called him that since he was eight.

Oh well, that could have been worse. 

It was still extremely strange talking to them after so long. And acting as if nothing had happened. Neither party was eager to talk about why they’d fallen out of touch in the first place. How they treated him like a failure of a son, and as far as he was concerned, they were failures of parents. Maybe he was just too old to keep resenting them. If that was possible. Though it’s not like he _didn’t_ resent them. It was all confusing and unpleasant. 

Adam appeared soon enough after the call ended, Francis suspected he’d been eavesdropping. Not that he blamed him; he would have done the same in a heartbeat. Though it didn’t make it any less annoying.

The fact that Adam was at least partly responsible for _some_ of the uncomfortableness was also forefront on his mind. As if Francis’ own questions about what he was doing with him in Prague weren’t enough, having his parents asking about it just drove the point home. But no, Francis only flew across an ocean to help him out. It’s not like Adam could give him a straight answer to a basic question that heavily involved _both_ of them. 

Strangely, it would have been nice to see his mother pleased he was dating someone for once. He wondered what she would say.

“How’d it go?” he asked. Francis shrugged. 

“Fine. Did you want to get your link fixed? Everything’s ready.”

Adam folded his arms, looking him over, brow raised. “Sure. But I mean, there’s no real rush. Whenever you’re up for it…”

“Now is fine,” Francis said, standing and starting to gather the tools. He was eager for an excuse to put all the garbage out of his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Christ, what is with you and the twenty questions lately?” Francis snapped. Adam raised his arms in surrender.

“Alright, okay, jeeze…I was just. Worried.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about. But we should probably go to the lab, for the nicer robotic arm,” Francis said, scanning the table for anything he missed. 

“Francis…”

“What?” he snapped, Adam opened and closed his mouth a few times before sighing.

He shook his head. “Nothing, never mind. Let’s go...”

It didn’t take long to pack up what they needed and head out the door. Whatever downpour Adam got stuck in had thankfully stopped, but was instead replaced by a downright icy wind. Francis grumbled as he zipped his jacket as far as it would go. He needed a thicker coat.

He struggled to ignore the building anxiety as they made it to Koller’s lab. He was still a little amazed the place hadn’t been ransacked yet. It seemed it was quite well hidden. But surely one of his own customers would have tried to empty the place out by now? Or maybe they were like Adam, leaving it intact for future use. Much of the equipment was too large to reasonably smuggle out anyway. 

Adam eyed the chair with trepidation. “Well...this should be the last procedure for a while, right?” he asked, shifting his weight.

“Ideally, yes,” Francis said as he began laying out his equipment on a rolling work table. He certainly didn’t blame Adam for being apprehensive. When Francis finished arranging his tools, and loading the chip into the robotic arm, he noticed Adam still standing, arms folded, scowling down at the chair. 

Francis slid in front of him, cupping his face in his hands, and sliding in to plant a gentle kiss on Adam’s lips. The man sighed against him, his shoulders visibly sagging. 

“It’ll be fine,” Francis reassured when they parted. 

Adam shook his head. “Yeah, I know. It’s just...Not my favorite thing.”

“Can’t say I blame you. But sit down. We’ll get it over with.”

Adam reluctantly sat in the chair, and Francis moved around back, getting ready. He ran his fingers through Adam’s hair a few times before he set about plugging anything in, waiting for him to relax a little. The bastard had such nice hair, why did he always gel it half to death? He smiled a little despite himself, the rain washed a lot of the product out, but now Francis’ attention was making it stick up in new and bizarre angles. 

“Having fun back there?” Adam asked.

“Mmhmm. You ready?”

“I guess.”

Francis nodded and accessed the port, and soon enough had Adam sedated. He quickly, but carefully set about installing his new device. It was a lot of work, cobbling the thing together. Cybernetic firmware was not his specialty, but he tested it half to death, and was confident it would work. But that didn’t stop him from being nervous about it. 

He hated the fact that Adam had to put up with so much bullshit, that he was pretty much destined from birth to not live a normal life. His parents and Ms. Walthers tried… Hell, to an extent Francis even tried. He didn’t _have_ to be involved in all the things he was. But he really shouldn’t have to deal with so many tests and procedures, and having some person install half-baked tech that may or may not even work into his skull. Francis could remember all too well the helpless, almost resigned feeling of sitting through procedure after procedure. But at least hopefully soon it would be over with. At least for the moment.

The robotic arm did most of the heavy lifting installing the device, after Francis input where it needed to be, how it needed to be connected. There was a reason he wanted to use Koller’s equipment instead of his own. It was always safer allowing robots to do the precision installation, particularly for neural and neural adjacent implants. All of his devices required too much manual input. 

Eventually he closed Adam back up and woke him from sedation, but they weren’t done yet. He spent nearly an hour testing and verifying, having Adam switch the device on and off while he monitored the rebroadcaster, before he let Adam send a single transmission. But everything looked good. No activity from the rebroadcaster when he activated the device. No problems switching back and forth. 

He finally had a fully functioning, fully _secure_ Infolink. Francis couldn’t help but be proud of his handiwork. Not bad for a hacker. But at the same time, he felt...anxious. Adam was fixed. 

What now?

For his part, Adam just seemed relieved. 

“I feel like this calls for a celebration.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Maybe we could go out somewhere. Somewhere nice…” Adam suggested with a grin as they traipsed through the wet sewer, which was about the furthest cry from “somewhere nice” a person could get. Francis shook his head.

“What nice restaurants in this city would serve us?”

Adam’s smile faltered as he thought about it. “You’re right...There has to be something though. Doesn’t have to be five star…”

They went back and forth for a while on dining options, Francis looking up locations on his phone, and trying not to snip at him too harshly. It had gotten late, he was hungry, and really should have eaten _before_ they embarked on getting Adam fixed. And Adam seemed so...happy might have been pushing it a bit, but relieved. Part of the dark cloud that seemed to constantly follow him around had lifted at least. In contrast to Francis’ mood, which once the pride wore off, was worse than ever. 

The business part of his trip was concluded now. He had no specific reason to stay other than Adam, and whatever his relationship with the man was. The relationship that Adam seemed to constantly dodge addressing. The relationship that was a bit of a moot point while the issue of the Infolink remained, but now it was gone, and Adam seemed content to be as empty headed about the whole thing as he’d been from day one.

Eventually they settled on just getting takeout, again, and headed back to the apartment. 

Halfway there an officer stopped them, demanding papers. Francis and Adam both groaned and complied, the helmeted and body armor clad man snatching the papers with needless aggression. He barked things in Czech at Francis as he handed his papers back, Frank never got around to reinstalling his translation app on his new phone, so he had no idea what his problem was. It didn’t seem like the same bitching the cops usually had for them. 

When it came to running Adam’s papers it took longer. The man even seemed to get into something of an argument over his radio, gesturing at Adam as if the other party could possibly see him. 

“Could we move this along?” Adam growled. The officer responded with something that sounded unkind even with the language barrier, and kept talking into his radio. 

“What’s the hold up this time?” Francis muttered to Adam. He knew the other man didn’t speak Czech, but he’d picked up more than Francis had, particularly from these checkpoint exchanges. 

“I think he thinks either my docs are fake or that I shouldn’t have clearance for the city.”

“You are walking bomb. You are not safe for having in streets,” the officer snapped. Adam heaved a sigh while Francis narrowed his eyes at the man. So, he spoke English all along. 

“I’m with Interpol. You have the proof in your hand,” Adam said, gesturing to the papers the man still clutched. 

He huffed. “Interpol,” he snapped, tone dripping disgust. “With no respect for our laws.”

“If you have a problem with me being here you’ll have to take it up with your superiors. What’s your badge number? I can relay your complaint to Interpol...” 

The cop huffed and threw Adam’s papers back at them, he managed to catch the passport, but the other cards and documents fluttered randomly to the wet pavers. The cop turned on his heel and stomped away, as Pritchard and Adam crouched down to pick up his scattered documents.

“Prick,” Francis muttered under his breath. 

“I think some of them are starting to recognize me…” Adam said, shaking gunk off of a document, the ink already starting to bleed. Francis frowned, he’d need a replacement. What kind of shit printing did these people use? It’s like the documents were designed to self-destruct. 

“I can’t imagine there are many like you who they haven’t shipped off to the ghetto yet,” Francis said, trying to dry off the card he picked up on his pants before handing it back to Adam.

Adam grunted in agreement, tucking his now soggy documents away before they continued back to the apartment.

By the time they got back, the food was stone cold. Adam insisted on reheating and plating up their take out, as if that would simulate the restaurant experience better than eating out of the containers. Ignoring the fact that neither felt like actually cleaning off his table so they could eat there instead of the counter or couch. 

Francis found himself lost watching him plating up their food like some sort of dork. There was something graceful in the way he moved. With so many augs you’d almost expect something a little more robotic out of him. And surely Francis had seen plenty of augmented individuals whose movements were jerky and harsh. Some of it was no doubt the quality of his augs, but they were so well made, they just obeyed his commands. It was all him. He couldn’t remember if he moved that way before, he barely bothered to look at him back then. But he supposed it didn’t matter.

He was so fucking gorgeous. And good natured. And kind. Selfless... Why on earth, how on earth did he put up with Francis? 

Adam tried to keep the celebratory mood up, despite their encounter with the cop and less than ideal dining situation. But Francis just couldn’t share in it. As they finished their food, Adam sat watching him, brows furrowed, until Francis couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?”

“Are you going to bite my head off if I ask a question?” Adam asked gently. 

Francis smirked despite himself. “Technically that _was_ a question. But no, what is it?”

Adam rested a hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?”

Francis shook his head with a tired smile. “Yeah, fine. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind.”

“About your parents?”

“Yes, that’s not helping. But also. All this, I guess,” he said, gesturing between them and around the room.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. You’re fixed up. I guess I just don’t know what to do now…Where I go from here.”

Adam sighed, his eyes trailing to the ground. At least he seemed to know what Francis meant. Francis asked about their relationship status enough times there was no way he didn’t know that was a primary concern. 

“You could always stay. Here. With me…” Adam said almost cautiously. Francis frowned, he supposed he should have seen that reply coming. He’d offered to let Francis stay until he found a place, in light of current events extending the offer indefinitely made sense. And it gave Francis at least _some_ indication of where he stood.

It was very tempting too. But the reality of living in Prague. The horrible, godforsaken city. As much as he enjoyed getting hassled by cops with the threat of deportation to Golem City every goddamn time he stepped outside. Not to mention he was so far away from everyone else he knew and cared about. 

“I could say the same thing. You should come back with me. We could make a killing in the corporate espionage gig, you know that, right?”

“I’m not after money…”

Francis gestured around the small cluttered apartment. “Clearly. But I mean, I guess it could. Fund your project. Or whatever.”

“I’m more useful here. Doing this,” Adam said, the former softness in his tone and expression slowly draining away.

“Is staying here more important than being with me?” Francis huffed.

“Is your aversion to Prague is more important than staying with me?” Adam asked, more of an edge to his tone than Francis would have expected. Though he was right, it wasn’t a particularly fair question either way.

“It’s not-” Francis took a steadying breath, tension edging into his voice. “Just. Your life is here. My life is in Detroit. Maybe I want to get back to my life?”

“What life?”

“Hey! Fuck you-” Francis snapped, shooting to his feet. Adam reeled a little, raising his hands defensively, cringing.

“Wait, that’s not what I-”

“I’m glad to hear you think _so_ much of me!” Francis sneered.

“I meant...I meant your life is online, isn’t it? What do you have in _Detroit?_ ” Adam asked, his voice strained as he stood, an almost pleading.

“I don’t get stopped by cops every thirty seconds for one.”

“No, you just get shot at by gangbangers instead,” Adam muttered.

“It’s not _that_ bad. You just stay out of the bad parts of town- and this. It’s beside the point!” 

“I don’t see how it is-”

“ _Prague_ isn’t the only problem here. I mean, it’s a big one, don’t get me wrong. But...it’s this whole situation,” Francis said, his thoughts coming together as he spoke. “If. I stay, if you stay in Interpol working with your...friends. It’ll keep... I’ll keep sitting here in the dark, while you go off on missions, wondering if you’re alive or dead, waiting like some army wife for you to come home,” Francis said weakly, his voice nearly fading away before he could get to the end.

“Corporate espionage isn’t exactly low risk. How would that be any different? Or any different to when we worked for Sarif?”

“The difference is I _knew,_ I _would know_ what was happening. I’d know how much danger you were in. I could _help._ It. It’s different.”

“You could join the Collective. Help us, help me,” Adam said, reaching out, his fingers fondly caressing Francis’ jaw, trailing down his neck.

Francis sucked in a breath abruptly, his paranoia spiking as he stepped back. “What is this? Has this all been some sort of recruitment ploy?”

Adam’s brows furrowed as he pulled his hand back, looking hurt. “What? Of course not.”

“You sound like Alex. I already told _her_ no.”

Adam stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them again, he slowly slid his hands around Francis’ waist, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. “I just want you to stay…”

Francis’ eyes started to flutter shut at the welcome touch...the all too welcome touch. Suddenly a flare of anger rose in him. He pushed Adam away, taking several steps back. What was he doing? Trying to seduce him into staying? Was this some manipulation tactic to get him to join the Collective? “Don’t touch me!” Francis snapped, as Adam looked alarmed, confused. 

“Francis I’m sorry I-”

“Don’t- I... I just. I... I need time to think.”

Francis grabbed his jacket and headed out into the night air. That was another problem sharing a one bedroom apartment with Adam. Nowhere to be alone with his thoughts. From the first day he arrived he knew falling for someone with a hero complex and a drinking problem was a terrible idea. But since when had that ever stopped him? And now...it finally dawned on him in one monumental unpleasant moment…

He’d been so hung up on figuring out what Adam wanted from him, he never figured out what he wanted for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one more chapter to goooo


	19. Chapter 19

As minutes turned into hours, anxiety and worry grew in Adam’s gut. Not that he wasn’t worried the second Francis stormed out of the apartment. But it drifted from concern about their argument to just concern...in general. After the third hour Adam texted him, just to make sure he was okay. Unsurprisingly, Francis didn’t answer.

It took most of his willpower to not simply follow Francis out of the door, but he could tell the man meant it when he said he needed time to think. He didn’t have much space to himself, even if Jensen was gone during the days. Living in _Adam’s_ apartment had to have some sort of impact. It made sense that he’d want to get away to figure out...them. 

Though that didn’t make Adam stop constantly second guessing his decision not to follow him for the past three hours. If Francis was truly worried about Adam’s motives, he needed to explain himself, right? Or would an attempt to explain just be viewed as manipulation? Francis was paranoid, for sure, but he couldn’t honestly think Adam was that nefarious, right? It was probably just a knee jerk reaction. Francis was...prone to those. Time to cool off was probably the best call. 

What the hell had Adam gotten himself into?

Adam had to admit, the space also gave him time to think as well. Work was too damn busy to spend time worrying about his relationship, and being home meant he was with Francis. Admittedly, probably trying to get into his pants. Or at least cuddle. For Francis to conclude Adam only wanted him as a warm body would be...a completely reasonable assumption to jump to. It wasn’t _true_ but Adam could see how he’d get there.

Hell, part of Adam’s own brain was almost convinced of it. But using someone like that, for their body, was detestable. At least if they weren’t in on it. Not to mention there’s no way he’d hurt this bad worrying if that’s all he wanted. 

As the fourth hour crept up, and Francis ignored his call, Adam couldn’t take it anymore. He was happy to let Francis have all the time he needed, but he had to know he hadn’t been _taken_ again. He pulled open his laptop, there was someone he was pretty sure Francis would respond to if he could. And she was fortunately online.

Jensen:  
 _Could you help me out with something?_

Artemis420:  
 _Depends, what is it?_

Jensen:  
 _Could you ask Snake where he is? Or ping his phone or something?_

Artemis420:  
 _Can’t ask him yourself?_

Jensen:  
 _He’s not responding._

Artemis420:  
 _What, you two have a fight or something?_

Jensen:  
 _Could you just do it? I’ll owe you one._

Artemis420:  
 _Damn, how could I say no to that?_  
 _I heard about what you did last time you owed Snake a favor._

Jensen:   
_Yeah, don’t expect anything quite that major._

Artemis420:   
_Fair. Though I feel like I should thank you for what you guys pulled off._   
_Digging through those servers..._  
 _I swear that’s the closest any man has ever brought me to orgasm._

Jensen:   
...  
 _You’re welcome? I guess?_  
 _Also I didn’t need to know that._

Artemis420:   
_You guys are such a great pair._  
 _That’s almost exactly what Snake said._  
 _Only he was ruder._  
 _Give me a second._

Adam sighed as he waited, running a hand down his face. This was a mistake. 

Artemis420:  
 _Well he didn’t answer my message._  
 _But luckily he’s not being a paranoid little bitch so I can send his phone’s GPS to your HUD._  
 _Seriously though is everything okay?_

Jensen:  
 _Thanks. That would be great._  
 _And it’s probably fine. I will let you know if it’s not._

Adam sighed, closing the chat. Was it clingy and weird to literally hunt Francis down after he said he needed space? Probably. But it also felt reasonable in light of other circumstance. Once he’d verified Francis was okay, he’d just leave if Francis didn’t want him there. Again, that longing for normalcy crept in. It was uncomfortable enough to have a fight with someone he cared about and worry about their feelings and their future without the added worry of his safety.

The GPS signal was strong, coming from a building in one of the wealthier districts. The signal was almost too strong to be _in_ a building. On the roof, perhaps? 

It took a while traveling there. With the late hour, the subways weren’t running as frequently. He tried sending Francis another text, just to see if he’d respond. No luck. 

Finally, Adam made his way to a tall apartment building right on the edge of a shopping district. He stared up at the building with dismay. Why would Francis be there? He really hoped his roof hypothesis was correct. Breaking into someone’s apartment if he _hadn’t_ been kidnapped would be crossing all sorts of lines. Though, it was so damn cold out, being on the roof seemed nuts.

He tried to not let worry eat away at him too badly as he climbed the stairs. Finally, he got to the roof access door. It didn’t take long to spot a figure near the towering metal boxes of the building’s ventilation system, standing in front of the cement barrier ringing the building’s roof. 

Thanks to a seemingly new winter coat, he almost didn’t recognize Francis as he stood, staring out over the city lights. It was the tallest building in the area, and did offer a nice view. From here, away from the filth and oppression, it really was beautiful. A canvas of darkness lit up with glittering manmade stars. 

Francis glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door, giving Adam a quick once over.

“I should have known you’d track me down,”

“Sorry-”

“You _could_ have just _called,_ ” he said with a huff.

“I did.”

“What?” he pulled out how phone scowling down, seemingly seeing the messages for the first time, his face falling into a frown. “Oh. Shit. Sorry…”

“I can leave, I just wanted to make sure-” 

“No...it’s okay…” Francis sighed. “The view’s nice up here,” he said turning back to the city. Adam nodded, coming to stand next to him.

“It is. And I like your new coat, by the way,” Adam said, gesturing to it. It was dark gray with a heavy shearling collar and chunky oversized zipper. It looked warm, and almost sporty by Prague standards. It seemed neither of their styles fit into the city too well. 

Francis huffed a faint laugh. “Thanks. I was just glad I could find something okay looking before the shops closed. Had one I liked that I left back in Detroit that probably has twenty bullet holes in it now,” Francis grumbled.

Adam winced. The fact that Adam was inadvertently responsible for nearly all of Francis’ belongs being destroyed did not sit well with him. Though Francis seemed to shrug off the suggestion that it was anyone’s fault but Walker’s. Adam labored under the constant assumption that his involvement in Francis’ life was nothing but a risk to both of them. Yet here he was, against all better judgment.

“I don’t know if you want to talk yet. But I did some thinking. While you were...off,” Adam said a little hesitantly.

“Oh?” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t had an answer for you. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“Obviously,” Francis huffed, folding his arms. Adam scowled at him. 

“My point is. I didn’t think, I _don’t_ think I’m in a very good...place to have a relationship. You know firsthand the dangerous shit I’m involved in. It doesn’t seem fair to any potential partner. I didn’t...mean for anything to happen.”

“But you went ahead and jumped in anyway,” Francis said with a sigh. “Head first, regardless of the consequences. How typically you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Adam grumbled.

“You never think things through!” Francis said, shaking his head, sounding exasperated.

“Yeah? Well, have you ever considered maybe you think about things too much?”

“Yes! All the time! If...if you’d thought about it for a second…” a helpless laugh broke through as he tried to finish his sentence, the absurdity of it winning over his frustration. “If you thought about it for a second, you’d know that!”

Adam cracked a smile of his own. “Fair enough.”

“So, you don’t want this to be...anything,” Francis asked, his voice growing solemn again.

“I didn’t say that,” Adam said. Francis gave him a sidelong look, body still turned to the city, and arms folded against the cold, but remained silent. “Even if you feel the need to drag me while I’m _trying_ to have a serious conversation with you-” 

Now was Francis’ turn to offer a weak, “sorry.”

“-I _do_ want you to stay. To stay with you. To...figure it out. I don’t know. I just wasn’t really prepared for this, okay? It’s a lot to wrap my head around, and a lot to figure out. And yes I’ve definitely been thinking with my dick. Probably a lot. But that’s not all of it. I enjoy spending time with you. And now we’re here, and we happened, and I don’t want to lose whatever it is we have.

“You know I can’t just...stop and give up. But I can figure out something. We can figure out something. I can try to find a way to transfer out of Prague if that’s what it takes. If you’re willing…I want to be with you.”

Francis sighed, leaning against the cement barrier, eyeing Adam. His CASIE was popping up readings, but Adam was too frazzled and anxious to read them. Probably too fearful that they’d be telling him things he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be true. But it didn’t take augmented perception to see the faint, soft smile that developed on Francis’ lips.

“I appreciate your willingness to...consider leaving Prague. And everything. But I don’t want you to just...make any snap decisions. Honestly? Whether you wanted me to stay? What we were? That’s all I wanted to know,” he said softly. “I wasn’t even strictly opposed to, I don’t know, a friends with benefits arrangements or anything. I just needed to know where I stand. Though admittedly if we were _just_ fucking, I’d be getting on a plane to leave. I have plenty of booty calls back in Detroit.”

Adam smirked at that. “I never would have imagined you were such a player.”

Francis snorted. “Oh please. But if you’re willing to take us seriously, then so am I. And I’ll stay. Here. You don’t need to leave Prague just yet. But for the love of god, if you have an opportunity to-”

Adam smiled, indescribable relief flooding over him. “I know. I’ll take it. Honestly I’d probably take it even if you _weren’t_ here.”

“Good. I was starting to worry you were some sort of masochist on top of your hero complex. And not the _fun_ kind.” Francis sighed, looking him over. “That’s another thing. If I stay...I’d like to try and help. Without joining the ‘Collective’.”

Adam nodded. It was undeniable that they made a great team. He was still vague on Francis’ issue with Janus and the others, but he could respect it regardless.

Francis hesitated a little. “And could you try to be more careful? Please? If you can?”

“Of course. You know? I… Didn’t really realize how much I missed having something to come home to. Even when it was just Kubrik, it was always in the back of my mind. That I needed to make it home. Sounds insane but it’s true…” Adam said, trailing off, feeling his throat tighten. There were some things about his life, his current mode of existence, that were too painful to think about. He supposed that’s where the drinking came in.

“Kubrik? Oh! Right, your dog…”

“Yeah. I miss that dog. Miss having a dog.” Adam frowned, then suddenly brightened, a thought occurred to him. “Wait. If you’re around all the time I could get a dog again,” he said with a grin, perhaps a little too eagerly. While his enthusiasm was sincere, he was also happy to turn the conversation away from such bleak territories. 

Francis laughed. “Oh, so I’m just your glorified dog sitter now?”

“Come on, who doesn’t love dogs?” Adam said, jostling him with his elbow. Francis shook his head, but not without a smile. 

“I never had a dog, actually. My family wasn’t big on pets. I did have a snake as a kid though…”

Adam smiled. “Why am I not surprised?” he said, leaning against the barrier as he pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to Francis but he waved it away. 

“Yeah,” Francis said, his own smile fading into a sad scowl. “Was never really eager to get another pet after that.”

“Why?” 

Francis sighed. “Poor thing froze to death. After a couple of my hospital visits one winter our gas got shut off. We had to try and heat the place with a couple shitty space heaters. Then the heat for the snake’s enclosure broke, it probably fried itself trying to keep up. My parents said we couldn’t afford a new one, so I started looking for a free one. But in the mean time I kept this like... Four foot long snake in my hoody pouch for a couple days to keep her warm. 

“Then I got busted taking her to school so I filled a bunch of socks with beans and microwaved them and stuck them in her enclosure, in the morning and bundled the whole thing up with blankets. Sort of worked the first couple days. Third day though I came home to a cold dead snake.”

“That’s sad,” Adam scowled. Francis shrugged.

“That’s why I was put off of pets. Was always worried I’d just kill it again.”

“It seems like you did everything you could to keep it alive.”

“Yeah, in retrospect...getting a lamp or something wouldn’t have been expensive at all. I think my parents just wanted to stop paying for its care. We were better off financially when they got her for me. I don’t think they realized I’d try so hard to keep her alive,” Francis said, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure my mother would have shoplifted a heater from a pet store before she let that happen to me,” Adam said, Francis chuckled. “She didn’t always make the best decisions, but it’s the thought that counts. Your parents sound like assholes.”

Francis shrugged, smirking. “Probably. I mean, they made me, after all.” Adam chuckled at that.

“I’m pretty sure you have a bigger heart than that, at least,” he said, as Francis looked away, seemingly embarrassed. 

“I-I swear that’s the worst part about them deciding to get back in touch. Now I get to sit here reflecting on all the shitty things they did.”

“As opposed to what? Pretending it never happened?”

“Ideally, yes,” Francis said with a huff.

Adam shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a healthy option either.”

“It might not be healthy but it’s more pleasant at least.”

Adam sighed as they slid into silence for a while, staring out over the city. It was nice and peaceful, standing together in the quiet. 

Eventually he noticed Francis eyeing him. “If you were to leave...Where do you think they’d send you? After Prague. I mean.”

Adam shook his head. “I have no idea… Could be anywhere in the world.”

Francis nodded. “You know. Traveling might be kind of fun. I just never really thought about doing it. I like knowing my way around town. Having my regular coffee shops and routines. But... everything’s changing. Detroit sure as hell changed. My coffee shop had to close up, and it’s not like I ever stay in one spot for too long. Too risky. 

“I should see if Kat can’t get me a language chip. Seems like business has been booming for her since Koller closed up shop.”

Adam smiled faintly, raising his cigarette to his lips. “Probably. She seems resourceful.”

“Also, I meant to tell you. She _really_ wants to spitroast you,” Francis said offhandedly, like it wasn’t an exceptionally bizarre thing to announce. Adam almost inhaled his entire cigarette, coughing.

“ _What?_ ”

“She brought it up both times I went to pick up materials from her,” he said with a broad smirk.

“Good to...know?” Adam said, feeling the heat rise in his face. He supposed he wasn’t especially _surprised._ But, that was one hell of a thought. How would that even work? Francis didn’t like women. Though Adam supposed if he was the one in the middle...but who would be on which end-

Nope. It wasn’t worth thinking about. 

“She was able to divine we were fucking, too.”

“I think you mean dating.”

Francis smiled, edging closer, sliding his arm through Adam’s, pulling them side by side. “I guess so. Also, how _did_ you find me anyway?”

“I tracked your phone’s GPS with the help of a concerned third party.”

“Artemis?” 

“Yeah.”

Francis cracked a half smile, shaking his head. “Need to remind her to mind her own business.”

Adam ground out his cigarette butt on the cement barrier, shaking his head. “I was worried. So she was worried…”

“You know you can’t just...hunt me down every time I don’t answer my phone for a few hours.”

“Believe me. I know.”

“It’s understandable for now. But if it keeps up it’ll be weird and stalker-ie.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I think I’m developing a bit of a neurosis about people I love getting kidnapped, okay?” Adam snapped. He didn’t even fully register the words coming out of his mouth until he saw Francis’ eyes widen. He stammered, something close to panic welling in him. Sure, he’d thought about the nature of their relationship a lot the last few hours but he hadn’t quite come to _that_ conclusion yet. “I mean- people I care- you know- look I’m not saying I’m _in_ love with you. Necessarily. Maybe. I don’t know. B-but I do love you. I do...care…a lot.”

When Adam finally worked up the nerve to actually look at Francis again, he had the softest smile. He cupped Adam’s cheek, and leaned in for a gentle kiss. “I love you, in a ‘maybe not in love with you, but definitely care a lot’ way, too,” he said, a light teasing tone to his voice. Adam breathed a faint laugh, smiling back at him. 

Their lips met, slow and tender, Francis’ hands on his face, trailing up through his hair. It didn’t matter how many times they fucked, or kissed, or cuddled, or casually brushed up against one another, those brief flashes of contact saying _I’m still here._ It was always amazing, always perfect, always threw Adam for a loop because of how good it felt. 

Maybe it was selfish. But no matter how chaotic his life was, no matter the risks, he _wanted this._ And Francis wanted it too. 

“It’s cold out here, we should head home…” Adam eventually murmured, pushing a stray strand of hair out of Francis’ face.

“Actually, I was planning on staying a while longer,” he said, smiling at Adam before he turned in his arms, looking back out over the city again. Adam nuzzled in, sliding his arms around his waist and leaning his chin on his shoulder, holding him close against the cold.

“Mind if I stay? I can leave you alone if you want, I’d understand.”

“It’s warmer with you here.” 

Adam grunted in approval, nuzzling into his neck, and pulling him even tighter. Francis laced their fingers together as they stood in silence, though Adam could feel them slowly growing cold in his augmented grip. His hands weren’t really warm anymore. 

After a long while Francis shivered, turning in Adam’s arms to face him, his icy hands sliding under his coat, and under his sweater. But at least he was merciful and kept them outside Adam’s shirt. Francis smiled at him, his eyes almost looking distant as he studied Adam’s face. Finally, he buried his face against Adam’s shoulder with a sigh.

“I have no idea why you put up with me.”

“I guess I just have a soft spot for nerds,” Adam said giving him a squeeze. 

Francis snorted. “Must be one hell of a soft spot.” 

Adam tilted his head, studying Francis as the man’s gaze diverted elsewhere, seemingly staring off, a faint melancholy to his expression even in the dark. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“Honestly? Yes. You’re _way_ out of my league,” he sputtered, still avoiding eye contact, even drawing away a little, his hands sliding out from under Adam’s sweater, halfheartedly moving to push him away.

Adam raised a brow, holding him firmly. “How do you figure that?”

“I mean, look at you. You’re handsome. And obnoxiously selfless and noble. And kind. And pretty much everything I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m all that...But you’re right, we are pretty different. Isn’t that why it works though? You’re clever, and self-sufficient, and don’t put up with people’s bullshit. I admire that,” he said, even in the dark and without his augs he could see the color rise in Francis’ cheeks. For as egotistical as he could be, it seemed he wasn’t accustomed to actually receiving compliments. Adam smiled. “And you’re pretty handsome yourself…”

He snorted again. “Speaking of bullshit…”

“What? You are. You have such nice hands,” Adam said, trailing his palms down Francis’ arms to take the hacker’s hands in his own again, pressing them against his chest. “And you have such silky hair,” he said, trailing the fingers of one hand along the hair on his temple, before his finger traveled down the bridge of his nose. “And a great nose...and lovely long neck...” he said, his fingers brushing down Francis’ lips and jaw to his adam’s apple.

He could feel the heat from Francis’ ever intensifying blush on his fingertips, before the man finally just buried his face against Adam’s chest, as if to hide his embarrassment. “You’re ridiculous.”

Adam grinned, allowing his hand to keep trailing downward. “And this cute skinny waist, and a great firm little ass,” he said, roughly slapping his hand on said ass, grabbing a handful, making Francis wheeze.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“And a freaking huge-”

“Stoppit-!” Francis finally laughed as Adam’s hand started trailing across his hip to grab his next target of compliments. “Okay! I get it!” he said finally pulling away, seemingly trying to fight the grin from his face and look annoyed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, making Adam smile even wider. 

“What? No snappy comeback for me? I’ll have to keep this in mind later. The way to shut you up is to just toss a few compliments at you.”

“You are _insufferable,_ ” Francis said with a smirk. “You know I have an even more foolproof method for shutting _you_ up…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Francis said with a smug glint in his eye, before grabbing Adam by the hair and pushing their lips together. Adam wanted to point out that covering his mouth was in fact cheating, but couldn’t be bothered. Though maybe that meant it wasn’t cheating...

He wrapped his arms around Francis, pulling him close, their bodies slotting together so perfectly. It wasn’t long before their kiss deepened, Francis’ hands finding their way under Adam’s shirt, while Adam’s augmented hand slid into Francis’ back pocket with a playful squeeze.

“Are you _trying_ to make me think with my dick again?” Adam murmured against his lips, as Francis chuckled against them.

“Maybe…”

“So, I take it you don’t mind if I think with my dick from time to time?” 

“Hmm, no, not at all. You might even say I love it,” Francis purred back.

Adam moaned as Francis backed him into the ventilation unit, his back hitting it with a loud, dull thud. He could feel Francis’ impressive length growing against him, rubbing against his own as he held onto Francis’ hips, grinding against him. They were so exposed out on that rooftop, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned there was nothing else in the entire world. The frigid night air kept at bay by the heat of Francis’ body pressed up against his own. 

Francis’ hand slid down his chest, finding is way to the waistband of his pants, popping the top button, before cool fingers slid down his pants. Adam sucked in a breath, a chill of excitement running up his spine as the long roaming fingers worked their way into his boxers, wrapping around his shaft, stroking. 

The air vent clanged again as Adam’s head thumped back, his eyes closed in ecstasy as Francis’ lips left his own, trailing down his jaw to kiss his neck, as he ran a thumb over the slit of Adam’s cock, smearing precum along with, trailing down, before beginning to message the sensitive underside of his head. His cock absolutely throbbed, despite the awkward angle of Francis’ hand, the intimate touch of his hand out in the open, fully clothed was thrilling. He rocked his hips into Francis’ palm, wanting more.

The sound of ragged panting was broken by the faint creak of the door opening. 

“Goddamnit, get a room,” an incredulous voice called a few moments later. 

“Fuck off we’re busy,” Francis snapped over his shoulder, his lips leaving Adam’s neck only long enough to yell at him before he was back at it. Adam’s eyes fluttered open, however. He _recognized_ that voice. 

His gaze drifted to the door, spotting him: Coldburn. His fellow agent, and certified douchebag stood staring. They made eye contact briefly, a distinct look of horror and recognition coming over Coldburn’s features. Adam _should_ have felt embarrassed; his coworker catching him with Francis’ hand on his dick. Indeed, it seemed like Coldburn was constantly trying to embarrass him, whether it be about his augs or most recently his sex life. But...he smiled something of a half-lidded sneer at him, with a wink, as the man stood petrified, open mouthed. 

Even if the man tried to use this against Adam later, he realized, indeed they probably both realized. No one would ever believe him.

Adam stifled a gasp, his eyes sliding shut as Francis’ hand gave him a particularly firm stroke. Moments later the sound of Coldburn fleeing and the door slamming behind him was unmistakable. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Francis whispered in his ear as his strokes grew rougher, more urgent. Adam whimpered, squirming against his grip, his head spinning. It felt so goddamn _good._

Adam opened his mouth to say something, to suggest they stop, wait until they got back to the apartment, to the bed. But it felt so good he lost the words in his throat. So exposed out on that roof in the cold, Francis’ hot breath on his neck. His free hand roamed up Adam’s chest as he licked and nibbled at his neck. He started rubbing Adam’s nipples through his shirt, occasionally pausing to tweak and flick, making Adam gasp.

“Francis- fuck-” Adam managed, Francis silencing him with a kiss before he could manage to say anything else, though Adam wasn’t sure he could manage. His heart was racing, breath growing ragged as his cock absolutely ached under Francis’ expert touch. 

“Are you going to cum in your pants for me? You’re such a dirty fucking pervert, god…” Francis rasped, sounding almost as turned on as Adam felt. Despite his lust Adam had to smile at the irony of the guy jerking him off in public calling _him_ the dirty pervert.

He was so damn hard, every determined stroke of Francis’ hand pushed him further and further to what felt like an increasingly inevitable conclusion. 

Francis picked up the pace, seemingly determined, while Adam just desperately held on for the ride, his eyes practically rolling back in his head. He clasped a hand over his own mouth as he finally came tumbling over the edge, his warm cum seeping into his boxers and smearing over Francis’ hand as his cock pulsed and twitched, and he struggled to remain standing, stifling his own cry of pleasure, the sounds that escaped him almost more like pained whimpers. 

Adam smiled internally. It seemed he had developed something of an exhibitionist kink after all.

The look of sheer delight on Francis’ face was priceless. “God, you’re such a sloppy mess I fucking love it,” he wheezed, his hand finally sliding away from Adam’s cock as he clumsily tried to wipe it off on the inside of Adam’s boxers, before pulling it free.

Adam panted, his hand dropping from his mouth as he laughed faintly, his head spinning. “What does that make you, the guy with his hands down my pants?” he asked with a smirk.

Francis hummed. “Just your run of the mill pervert I suppose,” he said, casually wiping his hand on Adam’s shirt. 

“Hey!” Adam scolded, grabbing the offending hand while Francis just laughed. “What the fuck!”

“Oh, just zip your coat up you’ll be fine,” he said with a broad grin. 

“For fuck’s sake…” Adam wheezed, laughing despite himself and surrendering, letting him finish cleaning off his hand on his shirt. It was already dirty anyway. “I have half a mind to spit your cum back on your fly…” Adam murmured, his hands sliding down to Francis’ waistband, only to have it gently pushed away. Adam raised a brow.

“Nah, unlike some of us, I don’t want my dick out in public, let’s get home first, shall we?” he said with a grin, while Adam stared in dismay. 

“Seriously?” he asked, as Francis rearranged himself, successfully concealing his enormous erection in his waistband.

“Seriously. Come on, let’s go, it’s cold up here,” he said, starting to stride away. Adam shook his head, buttoning his pants and closing his jacket before hurrying after him.

“How did you wind up on top of this building anyway?” he asked.

Francis shrugged. “It was the tallest building with negligible security. Lucky for you...”

It was a slightly uncomfortable trip back to the apartment, thanks to the mess he made of his boxers. Adam was just grateful it didn’t soak through his pants. It was embarrassing, but also strangely arousing. He had to wonder why getting augmented had seemingly turned him into a pervert. Or maybe he’d been like this all along, and just never noticed. He’d always been with such tame people, at least in bed. Pegging was about as wild as Megan got, and she never seemed overly enthusiastic about it.

He’d had to rediscover himself since he woke up with half his body replaced. Physically, emotionally, how he viewed the world and his place in it. It turned everything on its head.

He’d grown so alone since then. Part of him knew full well how badly it was eating at him. He _liked_ people, he cared about people. But denying himself that part of his life felt...necessary. He felt apart from them, and that to do his work he’d have to remain apart. And now that he’d connected with someone again, connected with Francis, he was starkly reminded that he did need that connection in his life. Not just someone to fuck. But someone to talk to, someone he’d know would be there, who wasn’t a fellow agent, whether it be Interpol or the Collective. 

It was a relief in a way that Francis didn’t want to join the Collective. Saying he wasn’t involved wouldn’t be true, but he could remain outside. Grounded. Or at least let his paranoia develop in new and interesting directions instead of just feeding into Adam’s. 

They fell into each other’s arms again the moment they got back to the apartment. It felt good knowing they were finally on the same page. Adam knew this honeymoon period of theirs was bound to wear thin eventually. But like everything between them right now, he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. Sometimes it felt like there were so few things worth enjoying in the world. It was a blessing to have this one. 

When they were done Francis lay beside him, dozing off contentedly as Adam ran his fingers through his hair. He’d more or less figured out how to keep it from catching on his finger joints, and he loved the way it felt, and Francis seemed to appreciate the petting too.

They both started a little, hearing loud pounding on someone’s door, and shouting. Adam’s Czech wasn’t good, but he’d run into more than enough cops to recognize the orders given by the voices; they were trying to arrest someone. A few moments more of pounding and yelling later, was the distinct sound of the door being battered down.

“That’s not Mrs. Babko’s door, is it?” Francis asked, his eyes fluttering open.

“No, I think it’s the next one down...I think they’re making drugs in there.”

“Ahh…” Francis murmured, his eyes sliding shut again as Adam resumed his petting. “Who schedules a bust for this time of night. Don’t they have any respect for the residents here? Wait, no, of course they don’t...”

Adam huffed a small, cynical laugh. They chaos outside grew quieter for a second, before escalating again as they seemingly located the residents. But at least there weren’t any gunshots before everything finally died down. Just another night in this charming city. In this charming world. It was upsetting to realize he couldn’t be bothered to care much about it. More augs being deported to Golem City. More senseless violence. It was just another drop in the already overflowing bucket. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d reflected on such a thing, and wouldn’t be the last. But this time he wasn’t alone with his thoughts. It felt good knowing there was something worth continuing to fight for. He wasn’t alone in his impossible battle against the chaos and constant human misery.

Even if the world was collapsing around them, they could take solace in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Yes the bone train has to continue to the last second  
> -and here we have it. I want to thank all you guys who read and commented and kudosed and everything. I had no idea what kind of reception I'd have in this quiet little fandom, and yall are awesome!


End file.
